


“Someone to Watch Over You”

by Metalkatt, VeronicaRich



Series: Further Watching [1]
Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-20
Updated: 2010-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 07:25:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 72,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metalkatt/pseuds/Metalkatt, https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeronicaRich/pseuds/VeronicaRich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ace Rimmer may have waited too long to go home again, but with some help, he might just get the happy ending none of his predecessors did.  Set in and after Series 8</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
  
  
  
**Current mood:**   
|   
Sneezy  
---|---  
  
_**Fic: Red Dwarf: Someone to Watch Over You**_  
Title: “Someone to Watch Over You”  
Writers: [](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/profile)[**metalkatt**](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/) and [](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/profile)[**veronica_rich**](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/)  
Rating: NC-17 overall  
Chars: Lister/Rimmer, Cat, Kryten, Kochanski 2.0, Holly, Ocs  
Disclaimer: Boy, we wish we did, but we don’t own them. Property of Grant Naylor, BBC, the entirety of the UK, God, Zeus, Buddha, Vishnu, Ra – but not our property.  
Summary: Ace Rimmer may have waited too long to go home again, but with some help, he might just get the happy ending none of his predecessors did. Set in and after Series 8  
A/N: Thanks to the dedicated betas who went above and beyond to read through this monster, which is in excess of 70,000 words, and make suggestions – [](http://missflibble.livejournal.com/profile)[**missflibble**](http://missflibble.livejournal.com/), [](http://cheezdanish.livejournal.com/profile)[**cheezdanish**](http://cheezdanish.livejournal.com/), and [](http://kahvi.livejournal.com/profile)[**kahvi**](http://kahvi.livejournal.com/). Any mistakes or errors are still our own.  
Feedback and concrit: Yes, please!

  


 _What is it about bad guys that they always use warehouses?_ Ace wondered as he slunk behind a stack of crates. Were they all that unimaginative, or was there some sort of interdimensional bad-guy handbook he didn't know about? He reflected for a moment that if he could get his hands on one, it might make a nice gift for-

He shook his head, tossing auburn curls out of his eyes as he peered carefully around the corner of the stack. Focus, he had to focus. He turned his hearing up to full, catching the scratching of the rodents and insects as they skittered around the dark enclosure. And thinking of dark enclosures – why on Io were they always dark? You'd think that with full lighting, some cheery colors on the wall, at least if they didn't confuse the hero into thinking that's _not_ where they were hiding, then it'd be easy to spot said hero. He'd spent a lot of his downtime designing dungeons, enclosures, hideouts, and cellblocks, using the things he'd seen, done, and escaped from to try to build one even he couldn't defeat.

A fast, faint sound interrupted his musings, and he jumped on it, trying to pinpoint its location. _thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa._ The furious beating of the heart of a frightened child. He often wished he had ears like the Cat's; even nearly human, the felinoid could still move his ears enough to get some sort of rough triangulation. He twisted and turned his head, then set off to the right, trying to keep low and hidden. The only heavy footsteps he heard were outside the compound on the other side, away from the pathetic excuses for guards he'd taken out on his way in. Ace stopped every few steps to listen, making sure he was safe and on the right track.

Safe ... that's right, the kid had a safe word, one his parents had taught him on the million-to-one chance anything should happen. What was it, again? Oh, right – “Paladin.” In the shadows, he made a face and shook his head. Who in their right mind would choose that for a safe word? It was so disgustingly obvious. Anyone could have guessed it to win a kid's confidence. Why not something rarer, like “Morris dancing” or “Rastabilly Skank?” He snickered softly to himself as the latter popped into his head – that would have been the perfect safe word for Lister. Perhaps “fabric softener” for Kryten, or “Cuban heel” for the Cat. He stopped, hearing the shuddering breaths as well as the strong, terrified heartbeat, and saw a small door with a broom through the handle. He checked it for traps, then slid it away, praying that the door wouldn't creak too loudly.

A frightened, whimpering noise came from the darkness, and Ace could see a small form huddled in the corner, trying to make itself smaller. "Daniel Moss?" he whispered tentatively. The form stilled for a moment, and Ace knew he had him. "Paladin," he whispered hurriedly. "Your parents sent me to get you; paladin."

There was a pause, then scrabbling, then he was hit in the chest by a dark-haired missile that clutched at him and sobbed. "Shh, shh," he whispered, trying to get the boy to be quiet. He hugged the child to him, feeling the shakes that ran though the small body. "It's okay; you're safe now, but I need you to be quiet, okay?" The boy nodded, then hissed in pain. Ace pushed him back a bit to see four large slices on his face, running over one eye, across his nose, and down the other cheek. "My god, what happened to you?" he breathed, shocked at the damage. Did they have animals?

"Th- The man with the claw," the boy whispered. He held his chin up, bottom lip quivering, and Ace recognized the look of a scared child trying to be brave. "He got mad at me for crying, and hit me. I fell, and now my arm hurts, too." The small throat bobbed as he swallowed, and he tried to hold the man's gaze, though it flickered away here and there.

Ace pulled him in for another hug, gentler this time, then reached into the small satchel at his hip. He drew from it one of the small plush penguins he used to help with child rescuees, and held it up. "Daniel, I want you to meet Mister Flibble." He made the toy bow. "Mister Flibble is a very special penguin, and I need you to help me help him as we get out of here. I need you to hold onto him as tight as you can; don't let him go. If you get scared, I want you to squeeze him. We're going to get you home, Mister Flibble and I. We promise." He wiggled the toy and Daniel took it, giving a sort of half-smile as he tucked it into the arm he held close to his chest. Ace gave him a brave smile and a nod, and stretched his neck up to look around. "Okay, we have to go for a little walk to the door, but when we get outside, I'm going to pick you up and run, okay?" An answering nod; the boy's father had said Daniel was a quiet child, and he found himself grateful for the stealth. "Good. Hold onto my belt; we'll go slow."

They crept along back to where Ace had entered, pausing frequently for him to check their safety before moving ahead. Through the door, Ace could see the shadows of men approaching the corner and swore softly to himself. "Time to make a blur," he warned, and scooped the boy up before taking off.

Being a coward had always helped him be a faster runner, but not even he could call running off with a rescuee cowardice. He felt Daniel cringe against him as they were spotted, shouts and lights directed at them. He flew over uneven ground, internal gyroscopic stabilizers keeping his balance and sturdy boots keeping his ankles from turning over. A grunt escaped as he felt two sledgehammers hit him in the back, throwing off his stride; he'd been shot. He took a deep breath and kept going, thanking Legion and the legions of mechanically-inclined Dave Listers he'd run into over the years to help make both his bee and his body stronger.

He hit the steps of the _Wildfire_ running, depositing the boy in the back as gently but quickly as possible before moving into the cockpit. "Hang on, Daniel; this is going to be a bit rough." He pressed buttons and flipped toggles, revving the _Wildfire's_ engines and getting her off the ground. "Come on, Nona-girl," he muttered. "Let's get the smeg out of here."

They had no problems leaving the atmosphere, but hovering in orbit were several more ships than there had been when he'd come in, and he interfaced with the computer for his heads-up display. The comm beeped, and he pulled it up to the vision of a ragged (weren't they always?) face grinning menacingly at him. "Give the boy back, Ace," the face insisted, grin never wavering. "He belongs with his family, and you know very well that's not those peacenik GELF lovers on that pathetic little moon. You are outnumbered and outgunned."

Ace arched an eyebrow, his own smirk in place. "As if that's ever stopped me before, Jimmy? Look, I know you're bitter over your brother's success, but it's time to let things go. He's the leader of Ebeos, and you're the leader of the Silaxian Mafia. You've both had your laurels. It's time to let the grudge rest."

"You are in NO position to dictate to me, you interdimensional space whore!" The grin had become a snarl, and the face had begun to flush red. "You took Marlena away from me, but you are not taking my boy!"

Ace shook his head. "Would you watch your language; I have a child aboard, a child who is not yours. And, Jimmy, you know I didn't 'take' anyone. She asked me to help her leave you."

"FOR MY BROTHER!" the man shrieked. "For my own goddamned, filthy, goody two-shoes boring, pedantic, devil's-own-luck brother!" The face moved closer to the viewscreen. "If you don't give me back my boy by the count of ten, I will kill you both right here. When I get hold of your ship, I'll gut him slowly and make you watch, then shove his heart in your mouth and choke you to death with it."

Ace shook his head. "Sorry, Jimmy; I just can't accept that." He closed the link and looked over his shoulder, seeing that the child had taken his advice and tethered himself to one of the cots as well as he was able. "We're going to do some flying, Daniel. I won't let them hurt you, but we might get shaken around a bit. Hang on tight. You still have Mister Flibble?" He heard a soft “yes,” and turned back to take a firmer grip on the yoke. "Keep hold of him, too."

He spun the _Wildfire_ up, lashing out with weapons, dipping and swirling to keep them going too fast to hit while concentrating on blowing up as many ships as possible. Every once in awhile, one of them would land a hit, and he'd have to wrench the controls hard to keep from smacking into something. He was grateful for the relative quiet from behind, though when he heard the occasional hiss or yelp from the back at the shaking, he winced, but did not take his eyes off the screen. It took far longer than he wanted to take the fleet down; nearly half an hour he spent rolling, diving, and shooting. Finally, he shielded his eyes from the breakup of the large ship, and said a low goodbye to the mafia boss before checking the full extent of the damage.

He'd need to land somewhere to allow the ship to repair herself; Fiona was incapable of FTL travel at the moment, and needed to soak up some solar energy to power her self-repair systems. There was an asteroid belt not too far away, and he steered them through to one of the innermost ones to set the ship down, letting her unfold its solar panels. He set them to low-power mode, then swiveled his chair to go back and check on the boy.

Daniel was curled up on one of the cots, still holding tightly to the penguin. Ace sat beside him and touched his hair softly, noting the blood smears on the pillow. "Come on, let's get you washed up and healed." He gently cleaned the scores on the little face, frowning when they turned out to be quite deep. From the way they were far deeper on Daniel's cheek than his brow, he could tell the boy had probably been backhanded upward, which explained why, though his eye was swollen shut, it still appeared to be functional.

The washing was obviously painful, and Daniel kept pulling his head away. Ace knew the boy wasn't trying to be contrary, as he kept apologizing softly and shooting ashamed looks, but he ended up having to carefully place his hand behind the small head to hold him still. When the crusted crud had been washed away, he used the small dermal closer from his med kit, leaving white scars from the depth of the gashes. After determining that the pain in Daniel's arm was a fracture, he sent him into the tiny shower to clean off the rest of a month's worth of ick.

While he did that, Ace replicated a couple of sandwiches and two bottles of juice. He opened one and dropped a mild sedative in it before closing it again and giving a shake. He was just setting them on the cot when the kid came out of the shower, clad in trousers and socks with his shirt in his hand. "I can't get this on myself because of my arm," Daniel sighed, then looked over at the food. A small frown appeared on his face. "What about Mister Flibble?" The toy sat to one side of the meals, staring out over them.

Ace took the boy's shirt in one hand and set it on his own cot, then began to wrap the arm in gauze and quick-plaster from the med kit to immobilize the fracture. "Mister Flibble was a greedy little boy. Do you know, he sucked down three whole fish while you were in the shower? Three whole fish, bones and all. And then, he burped, and didn't even say ‘excuse me!’" He grinned when Daniel giggled, and helped him on with the clean shirt.

"Naughty Mister Flibble," Daniel hummed, sitting down and tapping the toy's beak with a finger. "Are these for me?" he asked, indicating the food.

"Well, for us," Ace replied. "Nona – that's my ship – is resting for a bit, healing herself like I healed you. So while she does that, we're going to have some lunch – very slowly so you don't get sick – and then take a nap until she's ready to take us home."

They ate together, and as Daniel began to feel safer, he started to chatter softly, talking about the horse his mother had planned to get him, and how he and his friend were planning to make a small fortification around their favorite tree to test the designs they'd drawn up. Ace could tell when the sedative began to take effect, as Daniel's eyes began to droop, and he crawled closer to the man for an awkward sort of hug, chin trembling as the emotions caught up to him. Instead of letting him drape, Ace picked him up and set him across his lap, tucking the penguin into his arms and holding him, letting the boy sob himself to sleep as he comforted him with hums and hugs.

*****

"We're so glad to have him back," Marlena enthused, holding her boy close, their dark hair mingling so he couldn't tell where hers ended and Daniel's began. "Thank you, Ace. Thank you so much."

They stood in the square, people happily going about for the welcome-home festival. There was a light breeze and it played through the trees, giving Ace the faint pang of a desire to try to draw … so much. When he closed his eyes, he didn't see the bright colors or the flowers; he saw Cat twirling about in one of his new handmade suits. He didn't hear the happiness or the laughter; he heard a snoring that would wake the dead. He didn't smell pastries and grilled whatevers; he smelled curry and stale lager, and a cream cake on the table that taunted him by its mere existence. He'd filled sketchbook upon sketchbook with the images, but no matter how often he drew, they didn't fade.

He opened his eyes, bringing a hand up to rub at the back of his neck, allowing a small blush as he dipped his head and chuckled. "Now, now; save it for your husband, or I'm going to get a reputation as a homewrecker."

"I don't think your reputation could be any more at once so bright in heroism, and tarnished in promiscuity," a male voice laughed, and Ace turned to see Daniel Moss's father striding over to them. "You're already a massive contradiction." He wasn't a conventionally handsome man, but Ace understood the power of his presence, his quiet deliberation and unerring fairness in the dealings with his people. He'd noticed many of the same qualities in Lister, who'd likely have made an interesting politician, had he so chosen.

"Well, you know me, Zachariah; if someone can figure me out, I'll disappear in a puff of logic." They both laughed at that, and then Moss stepped closer.

"I hear that Jimmy has passed on?" he asked, _sotto voce._

Ace nodded. "I had to wipe out the whole damn fleet," he sighed. "I'm sure they'll rebuild themselves somehow, but unless they have a hangar we don't know about, all their best ships are gone ... along with all those people, even the ones who didn't want to be there."

The other man put his hand on Ace's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "I know. I can't say that I don't value my son's life over theirs, but making that choice is never easy."

"No, it's not," Ace agreed. He stepped back a bit and tossed his head, all charisma and flirt once more. "So, Your Majesty, what do you have going now?"

A laugh. "A three-day, state-sponsored festival, and a lot more quality time with my boy. How can I ever pay you back? And don't tell me my thanks are thanks enough."

Ace shrugged. "Actually, if you could spare some pencils, maybe even some colored pencils, and a few pads of drawing paper, I'd be happy as a clam." Since he'd accepted the artist in himself, it was as if all the images and ideas he'd bottled up for most of his life had begun to flow out, filling pages with strokes and motions and colors without end. His predecessors had filled the few closets aboard _Wildfire_ with beauty aids, hair products, and sexual aids, but he had quickly cleaned those out when he'd decided to forgo the wig and simply let his hair grow. Instead, the closets held neatly filed and boxed stacks of paper and books, all of them covered in drawings.

Zachariah blinked. "That's it?"

Another shrug. "I'm a pretty simple guy." At one time, he would have considered that a lie; now it was more a half-truth. He'd been aching for more for several years, but he'd learned that possessions meant very little to a hologram, save for his art. He'd even cleaned out his wardrobe, giving all but a few suits to a Cat he'd met several dimensions prior (including any and all bacofoil, thank smeg); he didn't need clothes, per se, but paper could definitely not be manufactured as part of him.

The leader of Ebeos shrugged. "All right, then. I'll get some rounded up for you, and have someone meet you at the _Wildfire_."

This time, Ace grinned, and nodded at the king, then his young son. "Much obliged. Try to pay a little more attention to him sometimes, yes? Oh, and pick a better safe word. ‘Paladin’ is so overused that any thug could guess it." He ruffled Daniel's hair and said goodbye, then tossed a large wave to everyone as a cheer went up for him.

As he was walking away, he heard a small voice calling out to him, and he turned to see Daniel struggling down from his mother's grip to run over to him. "Don't forget Mister Flibble!" he called, hurrying over with the toy.

Ace smiled and knelt down, waiting for him to catch up. He took the proffered toy, then looked at it in surprise. "What's that?" He held it up to his ear and wiggled it before looking back at him. "Are you sure?" More wiggling. "You're absolutely sure?" Emphatic shaking as if the puppet was yelling at him. "Okay, okay." He brought it down and held it back out. "Mister Flibble says that you did a better job of watching over him than I ever did, and he wants to stay with you. Take good care of him for me, will you?" He smiled as Daniel took the toy and wrapped little arms around his neck in a hug, which he returned.

"Thank you, Ace," he whispered. "When I grow up, I hope I'm just like you."

"You're welcome. Grow up to be who you are, whoever that is. Don't let anyone tell you that what you want doesn't matter, or that what you like is stupid. And you won't be like me; you'll be like you, and that'll be just right." They let go, and Daniel took back off to his parents, leaving Ace to walk away.

He met the messenger with a large package nearly a half-hour later and thanked him, sending him off as he climbed the steps back into his cockpit. He tossed the packet on the cot and sank heavily into the chair, turning to face the controls.

"Nona-love, it's time to go," Arnold Rimmer sighed, resting his head on the console.

"Where to now?" she asked, beginning her startup sequence.

"I want to go home."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace Rimmer may have waited too long to go home again, but with some help, he might just get the happy ending none of his predecessors did. Set in and after Series 8

_**Fic: Red Dwarf: Someone to Watch Over You**_  
Title: “Someone to Watch Over You”  
Writers: [](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/profile)[**metalkatt**](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/) and [](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/profile)[**veronica_rich**](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/)  


  


When the first non-enemy coming aboard what was left of _Red Dwarf_ besides himself in decades docked and stepped out of his craft, Holly nearly switched to his fourth gender out of sheer excitement. Or perhaps daffiness; these days, it wasn't easy to discern (if it ever had been, truth be told). Holly transferred himself to the docking bay screen as the figure stepped from the small craft – no, not stepped. Strode. Wearing velour trousers of darkest sable, a shirt of deep forest green, and a jacket of buttery leather, the hero swaggered to just below the gigantic screen, hands on his hips, and tilted his head back.

"Well, old man, how goes it?" he asked in a cheerily deep voice.

"Hallo, Ace," was all Holly could think to say without giggling. Giggling might have been fine when he was a she, but giggling when he was a he did not go with his receding hairline, which he hadn't bothered to reprogram in over three million years and a few centuries.

"Looking quite handsome nowadays, old chum." Ace gave a little toss of his head, eyes flicking about to survey the bay. "Where are the lads, then?"

"They're dead, Ace."

He blinked a bit, fighting his voice back down from the former squeak it wanted to reach. "What's that? I'm not sure I heard you correctly."

"They're dead, Ace. Everybody's dead."

"How?"

"Time, I'd imagine, more than anything. Humans tend not to live much beyond a century or so out of stasis. Bad design, you ask me. And cats aren't much better, are they?"

Ace’s brow's drew up in confusion, and he took a deep breath to swallow the shout that stuck at the back of his throat. "Cen- How long has it been since I was here, Hol?"

"Well, the original Ace’s visit to _Red Dwarf_ was three hundred twenty-three years ago."

"Three hundred-" He forced his voice back down, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "A- As long ago as that?” He put on a good face of recovering his composure. “Damn. Jump drive’s not always so reliable." He looked about, the words almost sticking. "Are their bodies still in stasis? Least I can do is give them a decent space burial."

If a head could have fidgeted, Holly did it. "Sorry, Ace. Kryten took care of those before he went offline. Used the last three pods for them – the Cat with Lennon and McCartney, Dave with the two containers of curry remaining, and Kristine with three and a half quarts of cottage cheese." He paused. "Without pineapple chunks. I hope she didn't pass on too unhappily."

"Good man, Kryters. Where's he rusting? I'd like to have a word with him, if he doesn't mind coming back online."

"I can pipe him through the screen. Just for a few minutes, though. We're out of parts for him, and so I incorporated his data files and personality into the computer. I have the cleanest motherboard for three million light-years, give or take a few centuries, that's for certain." Holly closed his eyes, concentrated – and Kryten's novelty-shaped head popped up onscreen, eyes closed.

"Kryters, old man, good to see you again. Looking as sharp as ever." Ace kept his voice deep and confident.

Instantly, the mechanoid's simulated eyes blinked open, and he looked around. When he angled his face down to see the speaker, he looked as happy as a pig in his slop – or Kryten, in someone else’s slop. "Mr. Ace, sir!" he said cheerfully. "Welcome aboard!"

"Holly says the crew's taken a bit of a turn ... and something about Kochanski, if I understand right? Can you give me the lowdown?"

"Oh, dear." The mechanoid's features slackened in worry, then something resembling either sadness or distress. "They're – they DIED!" he squeaked, shaking his head, in mech-hysterics. “There weren’t any compatible parts on board to keep them going!”

Ace brought his hands up soothingly, humming in a sympathetic tone as the cargo bay shook around him from the force of the grief through the speakers. "Easy there, now. I'm sure it wasn't your fault. What all happened?"

Two minutes later, when Kryten had recovered sufficiently to speak, he modulated his voice once again. "They managed to meet up with _Red Dwarf_ about five years after you left to become Ace, sir, and they had picked up-" He noticed Ace’s strange expression. "Oh, Mr. Lister explained the whole thing about you leaving, to become Ace, when he told me about his dream about you, sir."

"Dream?" Ace shook his head. "You can tell me later. What happened to them after I left?” He held up his hands to ward off the torrent. “Just the synopsis – I don't need to know how often you did laundry."

Kryten visibly ran through hundreds of facial expressions as he fast-forwarded, then re-fixed his face. "Ah, yes, the information I believe you want. The Cat expired first, on a colony of GELF-felines. Females, sir." He paused, looking as misty as a machine could. "Mr. Lister said it was one of the most inspiring examples of dying happy he'd ever witnessed.

"Mr. Lister himself passed on two days after his ninety-ninth birthday celebration – we're still not quite sure what triggered it. It was either a heart attack brought on by indigestion from a pungent brew of lager and curry, or suffocation. I and Ms. Kochanski found him in his room under a pile of socks." Kryten paused to sniffle. "But he was smiling!"

"Kristine Kochanski?" Well, he didn’t know any others. Ace wondered how such a thing had been possible.

Kryten tried not to make a face. "Ah, yes. Ma’am died six years later, presumably of old age. Right asleep, she was. At least I think it was that, and not the lightning storm we passed through." He frowned.

A forceful breath flared Ace’s nostrils, and he pursed his lips. "When did you pick up Kochanski?” he persevered. “Hasn't she been dead for a few million years?"

"It was a parallel universe, sir – in fact, not very long after you left." He explained how the wormhole had created a tunnel, and how they'd tried to get her back to her holographic Dave – "Who she never shut up about, my goodness" – and how her egg and his sperm had to be mixed to create Lister in the first place. "I really think her being his mother rather put a damper on things, to employ a colloquialism,” Kryten added. He paused, then his features softened. "Though, she wasn't unbearable. She did help take care of him after he lost his arm to the Epideme virus."

"What's an Epideme virus?"

"If you were ever a smoker, you'd probably have known, sir. It was a virus created millions of years ago to help tobacco smokers stop their dreadful habit. Only, it mutated dreadfully and passed from host to host, killing them. We tricked most of it into Mr. Lister's right arm, and Ms. Kochanski tricked the rest out by stopping his heart and fooling it into thinking he was dead."

"Well, at least he wouldn't be able the torture the guitar for a while. How did you set him up with a replacement arm?"

Kryten's face fell. "We were going to try my nanobots, sir, but could never find them." He explained how the tiny robots had scarpered off with the ship, but had never been found when they finally managed to catch up with the _Dwarf_ , drifting years later. Then, he made a concerned face. "Mr. Ace, I must inform you, I have less than four minutes' runtime left; I will need to recharge. Is there anything I've not explained sufficiently?"

"So, why are there no children? Surely the moment Lister found a version of his dream girl, he would have been on her like stink on one of his socks." Ace couldn’t keep Rimmer’s snide edge out of his voice.

"As I explained, she was pining for her own universe's Mr. Lister for quite a long time, sir. As I said, perhaps the fact she was, in fact, his biological mother had something to do with it, as well.”

"Right – sorry, forgot that tidbit,” Ace said, dismissively. “One last thing – what's that dream of Lister’s that you mentioned?" Halfway through the conversation, he'd let his voice slip back into its natural register without thinking about it, feeling, despite the surrealism of the situation, more normal than he had in decades.

"Dream?" Kryten consulted his memory. "Ah, yes. The one where you returned from your adventures and he asked you to stay aboard, and then kissed you. We had to go through a whole AR subroutine to cheer him out of that one." He dropped his voice confidentially, which served only to rattle the cargo bay a little rather than substantially, in its volume. "Ms. Kochanski tried to talk him out of it first, but it didn't work too well; she was still upset at the loss of her own reality."

Ace – Rimmer – blinked for a few moments, trying to digest this. He cleared his throat, forcing his voice down to something approaching Ace’s register. "Um, er, ah – thanks, Kryters. Get some sleep, and I'll talk to you again later, all right?”

"Oh, I don't really sleep, sir, but I thank you anyway." He hesitated. "I don't know how you made it here, sir, but ... if you have any way of traveling time as well as dimensions, I'm certain our past Mr. Lister and perhaps even the Cat would be glad for a visit. And if you're-" His four minutes was up, and he disappeared, shortly replaced by Holly once again.

Rimmer took a breath, clearing his throat. "This is a lot to think over," he admitted. "Mind if I have a stroll about the old place, see if I can get the old brainbox working?"

"Sure," Holly agreed amiably. "Just mind the dust. Nothing besides me’s been cleaned in forty-two years, unless you count the times I’ve opened the cargo doors irrationally hoping for a stiff wind in deep space."

Rimmer laughed at the joke, giving a nod. "All right, then. I take it if I have a question, I can just holler?"

"Well, I've really nothing else to do, do I? Plan the next door opening. Organize my recipes. Catch up on old home-repair shows." He kept listing possibilities as Rimmer exited directly below the screen, unnecessarily ducking as though trying to escape notice.

He didn't pay too much attention to where he walked, letting his feet just wander where they wished. He paused a moment and huffed a mirthless chuckle, remembering one time when his feet – and his legs – had gone wandering off without him, through this corridor. He felt a sharp pang in his chest, right through his light bee, which he'd come to consider the heart of his hard-light form. Dead. They were dead. Not alive anymore. His breath, nonessential as it was, hitched in his chest, and he reached out to brace himself against the wall. "Holly?" he called out.

"Yes, Ace?"

"Where did Lister stay when he was still alive?"

"Same old quarters as always. Said he couldn't be bothered to move his stuff. Although he did designate Second Officer Robinson's quarters as his guitar studio." Holly paused. "Had soundproof walls, it did."

He sped off to their old room, body remembering the twists and turns as if he'd walked them just this morning. It was several floors away, but he bypassed lifts, mounting the stairs with eyes and brain racing faster than his feet. He needed to see the place again, needed to confirm for himself that nobody had been there in decades.

He nearly dashed past it, but skidded to a halt in time to hit the door control. An unimaginable stench rolled past him, and he shut off his sense of smell as he realized it was the fermentations of dozens of years of Lister's dirty laundry basket. There was dust on everything; Holly hadn't lied. No beer cans lay strewn around, no puzzles, no color books, no castoffs of the Cat's that he tended to shed at random.

He sagged against the doorframe, trying to swallow past the knot in his throat. _I don't want this to happen_ , he thought. _God damn me for a selfish, smegging, goited bastard, but I do not want to let them die without me ... I don't want to live without ..._

He shook his head, clearing the water from his eyes – damnable stench, that's all it was – and pushed himself up, striding to the drive room with a look of determination to put the original Ace to shame. "Holly, I can't conscience this," he grumped, throwing himself into one of the chairs. "I'm not going to let this will have happened. I need all the information you have as to time travel, and a full accounting of the history of everyone here since they returned to the ship." He swung his dark boots up on the console, legs seeming a mile too long as he leaned back.

"What're you on about?" Holly wondered. "You didn't touch any of the dust, did you?"

"No, I didn't. It doesn't affect me, anyway – not even that biohazard that our room contains can do that. I didn't realize it'd been so many decades ... I came back to come home – you can't come home when everyone's smegging dead."

Holly noted the change in Ace's voice, in tone, in bearing. He already shared Kryten's knowledge about who this Ace really was, since he'd gotten bored one Thursday afternoon a few decades earlier and began cataloguing the mechanoid's memories, just for something to do. "And you think you can do something about it, do you, Arn? Or rather, that I can do something about it? What makes you think I didn't already try to do something about it?"

"If you'd decided to do something about it, it'd be done," Rimmer pointed out. "We wouldn't be sitting here having a conversation about it. You brought me back to keep that little goit sane, but you knew damn well you had to pick someone who would need him to keep them sane, too."

"Maybe. Doesn't matter, really." Holly waited for Rimmer to pick up the conversation, but when he didn't, he continued. "So, you're playing it cool, I see. What is it you think you can do with my help, then?"

"I have a dimension drive. If you have access to a directed time drive, I can take us back in time before all this happened. We can fix whatever it is that went wrong, set things up so we don't have to be alone anymore."

"Actually, with a time drive, I could just take this ship back myself. Don't really need to go across dimensions, now do I?" Holly was being pedantic, but Rimmer had been much the same far too many times, the hologrammatic bastard. For a computer that had entertained himself for three thousand millennia, a three-hundred-year grudge was nothing.

"So, you're not bored, then?" Rimmer asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I have an IQ of six thousand," Holly muttered. "'Course I'm bored. I've always been bored, except for the time I was turned off. Gordon Bennett, do you know how many dust motes there are on this ship? I do. I’ve even calculated their rate of reproduction."

"Well, you'd likely be a trifle less bored if we went back then, wouldn't you?"

"Are you offering to guarantee some sort of entertainment, then, in exchange for my assistance?"

Rimmer lifted his chin in challenge. "Is that what it would take to get you to open the smeg up and tell me what you know?"

"Hmm." Holly didn't have a finger to tap against his lower lip, so he settled for pursing it, rolling his eyes up toward the corner of the screen, and hoping that sufficed. "I'll let you know in the morning. Pick anywhere you'd like to sleep for the night. Just don't move-"

"The dust, yes, of course," Rimmer sighed.

"All your old entertainments are probably still in Dave's quarters, or maybe in storage in Robinson's cabin. Don't think he jettisoned any of it."

Rimmer pushed himself out of the chair. "Actually, Holly, if you can just tell me where to pick up a pencil and some paper, I'll be set."

******

Rimmer had always thought that the hardest thing to do was to lie to himself. After all, he was him; he'd know when he was faking something. But it turned out it was even harder to lie to someone who knew him better than that.

So many times he slipped up, so many times he could have been found out, so many times all he received was an odd look before the next thing happened … and then they were off, distracted again. He spent many nights in that prison bunk looking up at the dent in the mattress above him, wondering what the hell Lister had ever seen in what he'd been. After all, if Kryten hadn't lied about that dream, Lister must have seen _something._

He took what Holly threw at the Canaries: the missions, the Tank, the sniping, the put-downs, the expectations, the waiting while Holly ran in low-power mode, crunching numbers into equations so massively complex that Rimmer couldn't understand them. It was like being Ace again, only on the other side – instead of playing the intergalactic hero, he was a jailbird zero. Again. Just Arnold J. Rimmer; Rimmer, to rhyme with “scum.” He tried, when he could, to squirrel things away in preparation for whenever they'd take _Starbug_ and skedaddle, though they never got the chance. And he’d never gotten the chance to tell them the truth …

The _Wildfire's_ voice broke through these thoughts, saving Rimmer from falling into melancholy. "Ace, I've found them. They're two dimensions over. They must be in a small craft; I can't get an exact fix on their location."

His hands danced over the console, and took the yoke. "Let's go, babygirl. We're getting the posse and going home."


	3. “Someone to Watch Over You”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace Rimmer may have waited too long to go home again, but with some help, he might just get the happy ending none of his predecessors did. Set in and after Series 8

_**Fic: Red Dwarf: Someone to Watch Over You**_  
Title: “Someone to Watch Over You”  
Writers: [](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/profile)[**metalkatt**](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/) and [](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/profile)[**veronica_rich**](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/)  


  
Lister yawned as he tried not to nap at _Starbug’s_ controls. On top of the last month being extra stressful because of dwindling food stores, he hadn't slept well the past few nights because of various bangs and hammers in the pipes. They were an ever-present part of a ship being pushed beyond its limits, and certainly not new, but they'd gotten louder, lately. He didn't want to think too hard on what this meant for structural integrity.

He realized his eyes had been closed and that something was off when subtle shaking jerked him awake. Grabbing the controls, he blinked at the radar – just in time to spot something heading on a collision course. It was several times smaller than _Starbug_ , streaking for them, hell-bent for leather.

"Aw, smeg," he muttered, then got up just long enough to run through to the stairwell in the midsection and yell up. "WE'RE ABOUT TO GET HIT! ONE OF YOU GET DOWN HERE AND BLEEDIN' HELP ME STEER THIS THING OUT OF IT!"

 _A few minutes earlier …_  
The pilot of the small red craft was cursing in several languages as he braked hard, trying not to enter this next dimension broadside. "Nona, what the hell is going on?" he demanded, wrenching the controls unkindly.

"I've done this a few times before," the computer gritted out. "You're good, Ace, but you're not good enough to prevent this. There's something on the other side of the dimensional divide, where it shouldn't be. I couldn't sense it before, and now we're going to smack into it."

"By Io, Nona, I thought we got your sensors upgraded six trips ago!" Another yank of the controls, and he heard the computer give a soft grunt of distress. "Sorry, sweetheart," he murmured, clenching his teeth.

"Do what you have to; I trust you, Ace."

The pilot shook his head. "Don't get all sentimental on me now, Fiona. Just get us to the other side with the least amount of damage possible."

The barriers between dimensions tore apart with a scream, and they hurtled through, propelled by gravitational distortion. Ace pulled up hard on the controls, rolling the _Wildfire_ to strike the other craft less directly, sliding belly to belly along and feeling the metal screeching on metal as the two ships shook and rattled, tearing gashes in them both.

Getting hit on the underside was actually a surprisingly new experience, given how many fixes various _Starbugs_ Lister had piloted had gotten into over the years, coupled with the fact there was no gravity to prevent it in space. Somehow, they just always got hit on the topside. He gritted his teeth at the contact, gripped the control as well as he could, and braced one foot on the floor and the other against the console, feeling the ship screech and whine and shudder hard. When the shaking had settled to a dull tremble – just about the time the Cat finally showed up – Lister dropped his foot to the floor and leaned forward over the controls, catching his breath. Sweat seemed to pour off as he shut his eyes and tried to stave off a cardiac arrest.

Beside him, he heard, "HEY! What gives? I was in the middle of my third sex dream, and suddenly I get knocked off the shelf! Can't you steer this thing at all by yourself, buddy?"

"Shut up and see if you can smell what's hit us, dammit," Lister half-growled, half-pled, sitting upright. "I can't see it anywhere. Might still be beneath us."

Swinging the _Wildfire_ around, Ace brought them abreast, engaging the gravimetric adhesor – "It's just a fancy tractor beam," he'd complained more than once about Fiona’s insistence on the technical name – to keep them tied together. He opened the comm, putting on his best Ace smile. "Seems we've had a bit of an accidental meeting there; a thousand apologies. Are you all right over there?" His long fingers danced over the console, engaging the _Wildfire's_ sensors to check the status of both ships.

The Cat looked to Lister for confirmation, then punched some controls to engage communications. A picture cropped up on the cockpit monitors, and the Cat blinked – then had a reaction he thought he'd never experience. He _grinned_ at the face looking back at them. "Hey, looks like Goalpost Head!" He squinted. "Except there's no alphabet. But the toilet brush hair! Who are you, buddy?"

"Cat!" Rimmer enthused, voice somewhere between his own nasality and Ace's baritone as his smile turned genuine. "I've been looking all over the cosmos for you! Is everyone all right?"

"Was that you who hit us?" the Cat demanded, his mood about any Rimmer but Ace returning to normal. "Why'd you hit us?"

Lister turned and looked at the monitor; his eyes widened. He realized it was probably a generic Ace, but his first instinct was to ask, "Rimmer? That you, man?"

Rimmer glanced over the sensor readouts; the hull-sealing mechanism of the _Wildfire_ was working well, though her engines had suffered quite a hit. _Starbug_ was losing air at a steady rate, and he hadn't known a JMC in any dimension to fit their vessels with more than a rudimentary self-repair unit. "Davy-boy, it's good to see you again,” he answered as expected, ignoring the kick in his pulse. “Look, we've taken a bit of a punch because of the bumpy jump; totally my fault. Sorry about that. You're losing air; I'm going to need to dock and hustle you all aboard. Is everyone all right?" He repeated the question for a third time, hoping that Lister might actually give him an answer.

"There's no way we'll all fit in that thing." Lister spoke as he checked the console, having gotten somewhat better at multitasking the past few months. "Maybe you could come aboard and put that overdressed computer of yours to work sealing up ours?"

"If it were as simple as nanobots, I most assuredly would," he replied. "However, it's not so simple. But, she's roomier than you'd think she is; we can make it to an S3 planet while we regroup and Nona makes us some calculations for a jump to somewhere a little more comfortable."

Rimmer heard a soft laugh from the speaker, and looked over at it with a frown. “Davy-boy?" Nona repeated in a chuckle.

"Stuff it, Fiona," he muttered back, pitching his voice below comm-level.

"Just- Fine, bring her aboard. I'll go open the docking bay." Lister swiveled toward the Cat. "Keep her straight, I'll go down and let him in." As he hurried back through the midsection, he crossed paths with Kris. "What's going on?" she demanded.

"We've been hit." Before she could drolly counter with _Yes, Dave, I know that much_ , he pressed on. "It's not an enemy, at least I don't think. Not unless it's a simulant – and I guess I'll find out. I'm going to head below and try to get this fixed; could you go help the Cat?"

She eyed him for a moment, then shrugged, unable to hide a yawn. She'd just managed to pull herself into black pants and a blue tank top, and headed past him to his abandoned chair.

Comms closed, Rimmer brought the _Wildfire_ to the deck above the much larger but now-unusable cargo bay floor, just barely fitting her in by angling her crossways. "Davy-boy?" Nona asked again as they slid very carefully home.

"Nona, now is not the time for your Jungian subroutines. You know the answer, anyway." He focused more on the steering than his computer's prodding until they were situated nicely in the cargo bay.

"They've sealed off the decks we hit, down below," she informed him as he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "They have enough air to last three days at maximum, so we have a small window, but if any of those seals don't hold, everyone's screwed."

He passed his hands over his face, then petted her console. "Have I told you how much I love you since you stopped fawning over me?"

"At least once a month," she laughed. "Go on, now; time to be a hero."

"Oh, not again," he sighed, tone only half-mocking.

There was barely room to ease in and dock the _Wildfire_ , let alone walk about, thanks to having to pick a smaller entry point because of the damages to _Starbug._ Standing on a metal ledge to the side as the cockpit glass pushed open, Lister put a foot on the red metal and held onto a huge bolt on the wall as he stretched out his other hand toward the pilot. "We've got to stop meeting this way, man!" he called with some jocularity; he figured this one wouldn't know about their first collision, but you never knew – maybe the Aces all kept some sort of perpetual shipboard diary. Or maybe the computer just filled them in on important events as needed.

"I swear to Io, Dave, I didn't know that was going to happen," Rimmer insisted. He climbed out of the cockpit, an exit he rarely used, but this time it was closer to the upper deck. He extended his arm to accept the hand-up. "Nona says best-case scenario, there's a day and a half of air left here, but that the seals are shaky." He'd become used to erring on the side of caution, skewing his estimates not for effect, but for safety.

"Maybe we find a habitable planet by then." Lister helped Ace balance over to the raised platform leading to the steps – which really didn't require much assistance from Lister at all; the guy had better balance than the rest of them put together – and pushed off the wall, followed, taking a few steps across _Wildfire's_ curved hull and hopping up on the platform next to him. Realizing they were both on level ground now, Lister grinned and clutched him briefly in a bear hug. "I'm just glad t' see a familiar face that hasn't had a chance to yell at me in six months!" he exclaimed.

Rimmer hugged him back, feeling his bee ache to see Lister safe and sound, if a little haggard and hungry. "Yes, well, I'm just glad I was able to get here, finally. Had to follow that damn tracer through several dimensions, after getting the old girl off the _Dwarf_." He pulled back, looking Lister in the eyes. "You're all all right, then?"

"Tracer?" Lister cocked his head, squinting to see if there was anything more familiar about this Ace than the other two he'd met; they all looked so damn alike. He saw this one didn't wear the dead-rodent wig he'd last seen, which he now realized was what had initially jarred him into addressing the pilot as Rimmer. But with all the "Davy-boy" and "old chap" bonhomie, he soon realized his error. Still – what was this deal about a tracer? " _Red Dwarf_? Do I know you ...?"

Rimmer rolled his eyes. "It's you like ye used to be," he recalled, mimicking Lister's own accent. "An eighty-three year old dad?" He quoted a few more of the things Lister'd said to him in conversations during their prison term, waiting for it to sink in.

Lister's mouth dropped open as he finally placed it. "SMEG," he said, not really an exclamation so much as A Realization of Import. "That was _you_? Wait – have you become Ace since then?" He patted Ace’s shoulders and chest, and then his arms, only belatedly noticing the yellow and black Canary jacket he was still wearing. "So, what are you? Human? A hologram?" He shook his head. "Bloody hell, man!"

Rimmer shook his head. "No – yes … it's complicated, and I promise I'll explain everything later. Was the only way I had to make sure I could keep the crew safe." He grinned conspiratorially, leaning in. "Thousand apologies. Nice to be myself again." He sent up a hope to be able to charisma his way through this, at least at the start. Explanations could wait, and they would be difficult, depending on what layers of truth he'd need to peel back.

"We thought you'd gotten stuck in the mirror universe – we saw it was collapsing, so we went in, too, but we never found you." He pulled up. "Wait, how did you get your ship? The _Dwarf_ was being eaten by a virus the last time I looked – were you in this mirror, did you take over for some Ace here?" Questions tumbled around in his head, and he knew there was no way he'd get them all asked at once.

"All in good time, Dave; all in good time." Rimmer patted him on the shoulder. A thought flashed through his mind of going for another hug (and perhaps even more), but he settled for slinging his arm about Lister's shoulders and heading down the corridor. "If you don't mind the presumption, we should probably send the Cat to start packing now. No clue how many outfits he has, but you know how he gets."

"Normally I'd say they wouldn't all fit on your ship, but we have sort of a shortage of material aboard, and have had, so I'd say no more than ..." He paused to count mentally. "I don’t really know." He shook his head. "It kills him to be seen in the same thing twice in a month – or not to change three times a day now. But, hopefully, you can help me fix this ship and it won't be an issue."

"Scans say you're ripped up pretty bad in the belly. I'm not sure we have enough scrap to seal it. Besides, the _’Bug_ is too big for Fiona to take with her through the dimensional rifts."

"Who's Fiona?" He pulled back and raised an eyebrow. "You have a bird with you?"

"She flies like one, I'll give her that," Rimmer hummed, voice warm. "Sleek and red and beautiful, my _Wildfire_. She needed a name; Fiona suited her just fine."

He wondered at how Ace had managed to put on the Rimmer snark-and-parry for as long as they'd been in the Tank aboard _Red Dwarf_ – or, indeed, if Ace had come in at some point during their time served and somehow replaced the rebuilt Rimmer. Then again, if this were another in a long line of "Ace" replacements, he likely had begun life as a Rimmer, and it probably would just have been a matter of putting on an old suit that still fit well and was conducive to bitterness and disgust. _More like a hair shirt_ , Lister thought with a brief lack of charity, then reminded himself that's not how Ace was acting now. "Was just curious. I once had an old girlfriend named Fiona, 's all."

"You've had so many girlfriends, I've lost count. I mean, all of you, I’ve met." He patted Lister on the arm with the hand that was still around the shorter man's shoulders. "Tell me, how did you all make out?"

"Well, generally I'd take 'em back to my place, or we'd try to find the back seat of some rich guy's car- Oh, you don't mean the girlfriends." Lister paused for effect, then nudged Ace with his elbow, chuckling. "Just kidding. We're all alive, but sort of barely. Food stores are getting low, although I don't quite know how low – Kryten keeps moving things around and won't tell any of us the truth because he keeps shorting out when he tries to deliver bad news."

"That sounds about like Kryten," Rimmer agreed. "Glad I made it in time, then. I've been searching for you for months."

He was going to let Ace go first up the narrow steps, but the guy deferred, so Lister preceded him, pounding up the metal grates. "Not that we're not properly thankful for the ... well, help," he finally settled on, mentally weighing death from oxygen loss against starvation and dehydration. "But why?"

Rimmer had been preoccupied watching the familiar gait, the leather jacket that squeaked over a frame thinner than he remembered, and the question caught him off-guard. "Why what?" he asked, brows drawn up in puzzlement.

They reached the top of the steps, Lister glad he wasn't out of breath. He'd run up and down these steps enough the past six months that he was well used to it. He waited for the other man. "Why have you been looking for months? Didn't you have other people to save?"

"Lister, I spent almost a year in prison with you; do you really think I was going to let you die because we got separated for a while?" He was surprised at the question at first, but then it made sense – the original Rimmer they'd known wasn't exactly the sort of person to come back for anyone.

"No, I'm not complaining, Ri- Ace, sorry." He shrugged, and pointed at his head. "It's your hair, like, and the way you said my name; it just makes me think ... anyway." He gestured for Ace to follow, holding the gate shut on the insidious dream that had first made him wonder why he would miss the neurotic smeghead so much. "Wasn't trying to impugn your honor or take the piss. You have to admit it's a lot of effort, is all."

"Don't think about it," Rimmer insisted, waving it off. "It's all a bit confusing, with being undercover and acting and such. We just need to get some good food in you, get you some sleep. And my hair." he chuckled. "It's more comfortable ... and, I suppose I'm used to it now. Though, it's a bit shorter than I used to keep it."

"Well." Lister didn't want to offend the guy, but he'd never been very good at keeping his thoughts bottled up. "Suits you better than that rug, man. Not your color, really."

Mostly green eyes glanced over. "Thought you liked the blond highlights … I mean, most Listers have. Said so, that is.”

He shrugged. "Like I pay attention to that." He nodded forward as they moved toward the midsection. "Ask Kris. She did something to her hair color last year, and hit me two days later when I hadn't said anything about it. AND we weren't even dating! Talk about expecting the moon of a guy."

Rimmer snickered deep in his chest; he could see both sides of that sort of issue, and knew well enough to keep his mouth shut. "Must've been the Cat who was petting them, then." _Petting them?_ Rimmer asked himself. He knew that Cat had merely fawned over the first Ace's highlights, not touched them, though the memory was not his own. He still had trouble integrating the facts from previous Aces in other dimensions, when they not-so-helpfully popped up.

"For her sake, I hope not." When Ace looked puzzled, he added, "Because, he's a cat." He pointed toward his own groin. "And, you know, cats have barbs ... didn't you grow up with cats?"

Rimmer nodded, pursing his lips in agreement and understanding. "Unless they removed them in medi-bay on the _Dwarf_ while we were there in the Tank, or something." They'd come to stand against the split-level railing, neither of them seeming to feel it the least bit urgent to get back up to the cockpit.

"Well, that's his business, but still." Lister shuddered at the thought, but quickly dropped it when he remembered something from earlier. "You said something about jumping dimensions – why couldn't we just try to scout for repair materials the next couple of days, while we're trying to fix the _’Bug_? Why jumping?"

Rimmer weighed different variations of the truth, trying to find one that sounded the most truthful. "The _’Bug's_ a bit small, don't you think?" he began. "Not really enough room for five people, but, by going to another dimension, we could find something bigger. Something a bit more suitable for everyone."


	4. “Someone to Watch Over You”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace Rimmer may have waited too long to go home again, but with some help, he might just get the happy ending none of his predecessors did. Set in and after Series 8

_**Fic: Red Dwarf: Someone to Watch Over You**_  
Title: “Someone to Watch Over You”  
Writers: [](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/profile)[**metalkatt**](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/) and [](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/profile)[**veronica_rich**](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/)  


Rimmer weighed different variations of the truth, trying to find one that sounded the most truthful. "The _’Bug's_ a bit small, don't you think?" he began. "Not really enough room for five people, but, by going to another dimension, we could find something bigger. Something a bit more suitable for everyone."

"But why not in this universe? There's a _Dwarf_ here." Lister frowned at his own missed logic. "Then again, the whole reason we had to leave is because we were already there, and WE didn't fit in anywhere anyway …” he trailed off, thinking.

"I've encountered another empty _Dwarf_ ; if we give her enough time to get the figures right, Fiona can get us there. I mean, I think your socks there became either a new life form or a weapon of mass destruction, but with a gas mask, I'm sure Kryten could get it cleaned up enough to be habitable again. Quite a bit of dust; he'd likely be in heaven."

Lister wasn't sure what to say; he had one overriding goal that hadn't changed in years, but kept himself going with little day-to-day rewards. Getting back to _Red Dwarf_ seemed larger than it should have, by all rights – he realized it was the closest thing he'd known to "home" since Gran had passed on. He didn't say anything for a while, then realized Ace was watching him with a very Rimmer-like expression, a mix of impatience and something more positive that Lister had never been able to explain. "Um – yeah, Ace. I mean, we need to try to fix _Starbug_ first. But – wow, that sounds almost too good to actually be true!"

Rimmer bit his lip a moment, then shook his head. "I don't think the _’Bug's_ fixable. I had a look at the damage to your underside," he murmured, lowering his voice and shifting closer. "There are six separate gashes, and one went right across the cargo hold. I don't rightly know if there are any supplies left... just, don't tell the others."

"And tell me, how did your ship manage to avoid reciprocal injuries?" Lister demanded, squinting up at him, trying to focus this close.

Rimmer blinked down into those eyes, wanting to frown at the suspicion in them. "She didn't. The self-repair system – the one that even I don't know how it works, precisely – can seal most breaches unless they're catastrophic. She's taken some damage, but she's still good enough to get us to safety."

Lister let it go, stepping back and rubbing his face. Too much stress was making him wonder things – this just didn't sound like Ace. Not the three he'd known. _Actually, just the two_ , his mind prodded. _The third was just Rimmer himself, without all the negativity._ "I still wanna go back down and have a look at it in a bit. Make sure visually, not just computers."

Rimmer nodded, understanding. Damn Lister's conscientiousness. When had that developed? "You look exhausted." _Thank you, Captain Obvious._

"Pipes are loud, keep us all up at night." He yawned, the excitement of the collision wearing off with the adrenaline. "Come on, we'll take you up to meet your fan club, then get back down and look at those tears." They resumed their walk up, and Lister sank down into his chair in the ship’s communal midsection as Cat got up.

"Ace, buddy, is it really you? Your scent changes every time you come back."

"By Io, Cat; I swear someone could give you a burlap sack and some rags, and you could make a fully coordinated evening set out of it. How is it you always manage to look so sharp under every circumstance?"

There was a crimson tinge to the felinoid's dark face, and a soft, rumbling purr filled the room. "Well, it's not easy, but I'm just that kind of guy," he enthused.

"Oh, Mr. Ace, sir, it's good to have you on board. Everything's sure to be all right... but, pardon me, sir; where did you get that Canary uniform?" Kryten wondered.

"I'll explain everything in perfect detail later, Kryters old boy, but the short of it is, I was undercover with you on the small rouge one. Only way I could be sure to keep you all together and safe. And I’m going to help get you back to the ship."

"Wait a minute-" A female voice broke the admiration society, and they all turned to look at Kochanski. "Are you telling me that this is the Mr. Handsome and Wonderful and Perfect you all gushed on about? The one any of you would have likely given a go at any time – this is him?"

Lister rolled his eyes at her exaggeration. "Kris, this is Ace Rimmer."

"Which one, then?" she demanded. "Are you the one that left, or did he die? The one was about to shag me when I was soaking wet and under a blanket?"

Rimmer shook his head. "Wouldn't have happened. I knew it was an impossibility."

"Well, all evidence was to the contrary, as I recall," she dryly noted, but a small smile betrayed her. "I'm not blind, after all."

"All a matter of timing, my dear." Rimmer sighed a bit wistfully, looking around. "Much as I would love nothing more to swap stories until the space cows come home, we have work to do. Dave and I are going to survey the damage; Cat, I need you on the helm – I'm trusting your impeccable skill and incomparable nose to keep us safe while we're out there. Kris, if I remember right, your navigational skills are top-notch; could you scan the area for an S3 with a good climate and potable water?" He nodded over at Kryten. "And you, old boy, if you could break us out some libations, you'll make me a very happy man."

Kris crossed her arms, the smile bigger, playing around her lips. "Mr. Rimmer – Commander – much as I appreciate your willingness to help, certainly it's not escaped your notice that this isn't your ship? And I'm the only officer aboard?" She bent slightly at the waist, leaning forward. "Do you always just walk in and take over, or do you ever ask?"

"Well, if memory serves, Lister made Arnold Rimmer the first officer of the ship." He winked at her with a grin. "Guess that makes me first officer while I’m here."

"Oh – was that you personally at that ceremony?" She smiled widely now. "You're the one brought back as a hologram to keep Dave here company, right?"

Everyone swiveled to look at him; Rimmer imagined he particularly felt Lister’s eyes silently questioning him again. "Fiona – the _Wildfire_ – keeps a memory bank on board that records all the factual bits of the Aces’ experiences," Rimmer explained, sidestepping the question. "What happens to one can be accessed by any Ace after him."

She very nearly pushed the issue; there was something to his glibness that stopped her. Normally she wasn't a gossip concerned with everyone else's business, but there was precious little everyone else, or business or entertainment, these days. "All right," she nodded. "Let's try it your way."

"Thank you," he hummed. "And no, I'm not always the one to take charge, just when there's a very limited supply of oxygen, my friends are low on supplies, and they've been crammed together on the run for several months without so much as a bathtub available. Or cottage cheese," he added as an afterthought. “I did find a large cache of it on that other _Red Dwarf_ , as well as pineapple." His eyes twinkled this time as he grinned at her.

"Hey, we _have_ a tub," the Cat protested, running his hands down the front of his suit, then sniffing down the front of his jacket. "I would've thrown myself out an airlock if we hadn't!"

"Oh, that sounds lovely," Kris cooed, half acting and half sighing in memory of a snack she hadn't enjoyed in almost three years.

Cheekily, Rimmer drew the side of his finger up under her chin and tossed her a smile, and then turned to smack Lister on the shoulder. "You okay to go out and have a look, or do you need a rest?" He was truly concerned; if Lister was too shaken or tired, he'd be at a greater risk of tearing his suit and getting himself killed.

"I'm fine." He made a motion toward the steps, insisting on following this time. He was tired, but not too tired to do this – just too tired to make sense of the muddle of his brain about Ace. There was some connection he wasn't getting, but it was less important than what was going on with the ship.

Rimmer led the way down, remembering the layout of _Starbug_ well. He debated whether or not to put on one of the suits, but decided against it. Having them know he was a hologram was no great pain, and this way, he'd be assured of emergency spares for the others. Instead, he helped Lister into his, checking his focus and perception as he did so. "You're sure you're all right?"

"Ace, man, leave off. I'm a grown man," he said with jocularity, but meaning it. "Do you need a suit?"

"No, I'm a hologram," he admitted. "I'll be fine." He yanked hard on the reins of his inner fusspot, and focused on the task at hand. "Ready?"

Lister nodded, locking the helmet into place and making to maneuver around _Wildfire's_ back to get to the bay door. "Let's go."

They made it over the ship and out the bay door, Lister's magnetized boots gripping the deck, Rimmer's light bee propelling him along. True to his word, Rimmer pointed out several long rents in the ship's hull, wires sparking here and there, but unable to catch fire for lack of oxygen. He turned to Lister, an apology in his eyes, and was struck by the blankness that resided there for a few second before Lister blinked and focused again.

He hadn't had to look much to see the clearly alarming damage done to _Starbug's_ belly, so he'd been looking between it and Ace. This Ace was more solicitous of him personally then the other two he'd met – almost like Rimmer had been when the emohawk had temporarily rendered him Ace-like. He stared, perhaps a bit too long, trying to see if he could pick out any detail that might set this one apart and answer the question he'd had since he'd spotted Ace on the viewscreen nearly an hour earlier.

When the man snapped his fingers, Lister blinked and focused. It was certainly likely something had happened to Rimmer and this was a generational replacement; if what he'd said about incorporated programs was true, well, that trait might have passed on to future Aces – to treat Listers a certain way when they crossed paths. The idea that this was “his” Rimmer seemed farfetched, and he felt a dull echo of the sadness he'd experienced for a while right after Rimmer had left to be Ace. But, he shook it off; more important things needed tending, such as finding a way to breathe minus oxygen, if necessary.

"Yeah, I see," he finally said, activating his voice control; the remote had been jacked into Ace's light bee, a small box hanging off his belt, so he could hear, since the hologram had no helmet with a speaker. "It IS pretty bad, after all. We can try, but I'm not sure we've got the materials to mend it."

"I still think our best bet is to get everyone off the _'Bug_ and to that other _Dwarf_." Rimmer's mouth moved silently, and his bee sent the words to the communications relay. "It'll take a bit; we'll have to make a few jumps. But, in the end, there'll be more room and supplies for everyone. Won't be four people crammed into a tin can anymore, unless you take that _’Bug_ out to a planet."

Lister gestured for them to go back inside; he didn't like wearing this suit, even if he was used to it, and it was easier to discuss things without the helmet. Rimmer answered with a nod, and they headed back to the bay. When it repressurized, he kept his hands at his side instead of helping Lister out of his suit. "You see now why I was reluctant to tell you the extent," he sighed.

Lister nodded, finally getting everything off. He turned and shoved suit and helmet and boots in the locker, stretching up to get it all in, and slammed the door, turning to lean back against it. "Smeg," he muttered. "Stuff happens, but damn." He shook his head – then, as his nature dictated, rebounded and began searching for solutions. "All right; we gotta tell everyone else, have a discussion about it. I doubt anyone's going to refuse to go, but this is a democracy, eh?"

"Of course." Lister's capacity for positivity never ceased to amaze Rimmer, and he no longer felt the need to squash down the spark of admiration in his chest. "Dictatorship doesn't work for more than a couple hours, and even then, it's sort of strained."

 _Nope. Couldn't be Rimmer, president and only member of the original Red Dwarf Napoleon Bonaparte Admiration Club._ "Exactly. Well, let's go – I could do with a sandwich, anyway."


	5. “Someone to Watch Over You”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace Rimmer may have waited too long to go home again, but with some help, he might just get the happy ending none of his predecessors did. Set in and after Series 8

_**Fic: Red Dwarf: Someone to Watch Over You**_  
Title: “Someone to Watch Over You”  
Writers: [](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/profile)[**metalkatt**](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/) and [](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/profile)[**veronica_rich**](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/)  


"Wait – how close do we have to sit together?" Kochanski’s eyes bugged at the tiny living quarters: two bunks, neither very large, a small sink and shower area that rotated into the wall opposite a cold-food unit, and a short, squat corridor. She looked back at Ace, who was a full-six-foot if he was an inch. "How do you get around in here?"

"It's going to be a tight squeeze. Part of the reason we'll need to do several shorter hops is to give us time to stretch out on dry ground while the next set of calculations are made."

"Looks nice and cozy to me," Cat put in. "Not my fault you monkeys never curl up to nap."

Kochanski looked down at him, sideways. "It's good you feel that way. Suits won't fit in here."

"Sir," Kryten spoke up, "if you have a storage unit in the rear, you could deactivate me and disassemble me in there until we arrive at the _Red Dwarf_."

Rimmer smiled winningly. "That’s the spirit, old bolt. You can dream of an entire _Dwarf_ needing your services: dust on everything, a sock basket that needs a Geiger counter, and likely simply flushed into space. If that's still the sort of thing you like," he added.

"That might be a bit impractical," Lister pointed out. "I know space is at a premium, but you'll be needing relief pilots, won't you? Cat's an ace – don't mind the pun – but Kryten's the only other one with reflexes to handle this kind of craft." He gestured between himself and Kochanski. "I'm not sure either of us could handle it – can you?" he asked her.

"I'm a passable pilot," she demurred. "As for this – I'm not sure we need several pilots, do we? I mean, if Ace here is just going to jump across time and space, would it necessarily take days or hours to do, aside from stops to recharge?"

"There looks to be just enough room for us to fit, as well as at least half of my suits," Cat opined. "You said we were going to stop here and there to get out, so if we just cuddle up in a nap pile, I don't see the problem."

Kochanski arched a brow. "I don't do nap piles," she informed the fangy tom. She left off breaking the news about his suits to him, for now.

Cat rolled his eyes. "Not a sex pile, Officer Bud-Babe, a nap pile. Anyone with half a nose can tell you're not in heat this week."

"You are not the only male around here." She gave Dave a cursory inspection, then swung her attention back to Cat. "You are the one I'd have to watch the closest, though."

"Look-" Lister held up his hands. "Just wait." He turned to Ace; they were both still up on the raised platform at the front of the ship, while Cat and Kris were getting ready to climb down to get a second look inside. "How long, exactly, is this going to take?"

"I don't know. I wouldn't think more than a few days, a week at most."

"A WEEK?" Lister resisted the urge to chew on the end of a dreadlock. "A week; I'm not sure we'll all survive that long unscathed."

"At most," Rimmer gritted, his patience beginning to wear thin. He pressed his fingers into his temple, taking a deep breath. "Look, I can leave you all here to die of asphyxiation in three days at the maximum like most other not-Aces would do, or we can cram into the _Wildfire_ while we find a safe place to be. I'm not asking any of you to ride outside the ship, here. If I didn't need to pilot, I'd deactivate myself to save space, but it's just not possible. I would really prefer to see all of you alive and well, considering the entire reason I was in prison with you all in the first place was to _keep_ you alive. So please, for your lives and my sanity, would you all just quit your bitching and decide whether you want to live or die?"

Everybody shut up and stared at him. The Cat and Kryten seemed almost aghast; for some reason, Kochanski was smiling, but looking like she was trying not to and hiding it poorly, a hand over her mouth and clearing her throat into the side of her fist.

Lister, for his part, was surprised, but not offended. He'd wondered if the Ace Program had room for normal human emotions like irritation or exasperation, or maybe Rimmer had just had a more profound impact on the overall makeup of later Aces than he'd previously speculated. When the Cat started to make protesting sounds, Lister talked louder. "He's right, guys – now, let's just ignore for the moment how we got this damage in the first place-" He couldn't help looking back at Ace; his honesty was terminal, he couldn't help it, even at the risk of offending What-A-Guy – "but, it was an accident, and we DO have a way out, at least.”

"Thank you," Rimmer said. "Cat, as for your suits, I could probably fit five of them in my wardrobe closet. I only have a few left. Kris, I apologize for having to cram you into a small space with all this testosterone, but I'm not leaving you behind just because you're a woman."

Lister was studying Kryten. "Are you sure you want to be deactivated? It just seems ... I dunno, like ignoring you exist, to me."

"Mr. Lister, it is the most practical solution, wouldn't you say? It will provide more space for those of you who can't – or shouldn't-" he nodded at Ace – "be turned off. I would really have no duties to keep me occupied, and if I'm needed to pilot for some reason, why, Mr. Ace can power me up for that duration."

Lister shrugged; what could he say to logic?

A bright light flashed in Rimmer's mind. "Kryten, are there any AR games on _Starbug_? Portable ones? I remember, there was a company that made them with headsets and gloves, at one point."

"AR games?" Cat asked. "What for?"

"If I can hook them up to Nona, she can run you on games to keep you from feeling uncomfortable while we're jumping."

"But won't that interfere with the power needed to create the dimension jump conduit, sir?"

"I don't know, Kryters. I don't know the power drain it causes. I'd have to find the rating and check it out. It'd only be the hats and gloves; we'd be leaving the groinal attachments behind, and if I remember, those take the most energy. Right now, I'm just trying to come up with ideas that might work to keep you at least occupied until we're at a point to stop and get out, since you all seem to be negating every single option here."

Kryten hurried to apologize. "Oh, I'm perfectly happy to be powered down! Why, I never meant-"

"Hold your oil, Kryten, he wasn't referring to you." Lister held up a hand to stop him, then turned to face the pilot, crossing his arms. "It's called a discussion. It's what we do." He leaned in, having to crane his head back further to look up at the guy, dropping his voice even as he kept his tone firm. "We all have to come to a compromise we're willin' to live with, Ace. It's been a rough six months, and an even rougher few hours."

"I don't deny it." Rimmer closed his eyes; he needed to figure out a way to get Lister to give the order, since it seemed not even Ace was enough to get them all to take action to save their own lives. "I'll tell you what – we have about a day and ten hours before things become dangerous, providing the seals hold. You can head up to the common room if you like, have a beer, talk it out, and I'll start work on the damage to the _Wildfire_. When you've decided what you'd like to do, come let me know."

*****

It was a sensible solution, on the surface. Of course, in practice, it was more difficult to get everyone to agree – about the only sure decision was that Kryten could be disabled and would be completely cool with it. Lister decided the reformulated NAFTA debates had been more agreeable. Finally, he stood up at the table and threatened to chug liquid curry until everybody shut the hell up and agreed they were going. He'd managed to listen for almost two hours before losing it, which had to be a record as far as he was concerned.

While the Cat slunk away to nap and Kochanski took the _Starbug's_ watch, he went off to find Ace and deliver the verdict. He found him nowhere else, so he assumed he was with his ship. Not seeing him immediately, he descended to where there was barely room to move under it, and peeked up into the open hatchway. "Ace, man, you here?" he called, without climbing up.

"Up in here, Skipper," Rimmer called. He'd pulled out the box of cheroots he rarely used and lighted up, needing something in his mouth to play with as he examined damaged circuitry and equipment.

Climbing up, he followed the deep voice through the narrow corridor up to the cockpit, which was too narrow for two people. Ace was on his back, head under the control dash, puffing on a cheroot before putting it aside into a makeshift ashtray and pulling at something or other. Lister felt odd standing so far over him, so he hunched down in the tiny corridor and sat beyond the pilot's feet. "It's all worked out. As worked out as it gets with us, I guess."

"And what has the Council of Trent decided?" Rimmer asked idly, reconnecting wires that had been charred.

"I threatened them with explosive diarrhea if they didn't smegging well shut up and get on the ship." He dropped his head forward and shook it. "Not my proudest moment, but sometimes – whatever works, I've learned."

Rimmer couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up and out at that, dropping his hands and letting it roll through him. "Well, that's one way to deal with them, I suppose." The smile was audible, and he slid out enough to shoot Lister an amused look. "Let me guess – curry and Super-Lax?"

"Yeah." He'd given up wondering how Ace knew, putting the specific memories up to Rimmer’s programming, since Lister hadn’t pulled that trick in prison. Either that, or there were a lot of really unoriginal David Listers out there in the multiverse. "I can't move people quite as elegantly as I've seen you do, but after a fashion, it gets done, mostly. I guess." He picked at the sole of his combat boot, which had been threatening to peel away for the last two years.

"From the memories I see, you can be pretty inspiring at times," Rimmer allowed. "Charisma comes in different flavors; you have one all your own." He sat up and scooted back, resting against the console as he crossed his legs and faced Lister. "Besides, you're a natural leader. Not a conventional one, but a natural one."

Lister scoffed at that, still paying attention to the boot sole. "The best job I ever had was on that mining scow. Pay was a lot more than I'd expected, I had minimal hours and free booze – even if my shift leader was a complete smeghead." He paused, grinning. "The best I ever did on Earth was a dog walker for this rich neighborhood. That's what I was doing when I got so drunk I ended up on Mimas with some bag lady's passport. Not hardly a résumé that assures one of the Prime Ministership."

"You'd be surprised how many politicians started from not much," Rimmer chuckled, his eyes tracing over Lister’s round features. "And the things some of them have done would put Cat to shame for hedonism, you to shame for alcohol intake, any Rimmer to shame for repression, and Kryten to shame for being possessive."

"Oh, I know. It's a shame I never wanted to go into that line of work, what I always thought," he explained, tone cheeky. "But I'm not sure 'leader' is the right word." He raised his eyes, face still tilted down. "Sometimes we've gotta do what's necessary, is all."

Rimmer couldn't help but notice Lister's eyelashes as they swept in front of his eyes. He stifled a sigh, and sent a firm mental command to his self-control. "Yes, what's necessary. Of course, everyone has a different definition of 'necessary,' which is where we all get screwed up. My definition used to be 'whatever would keep me alive.'" He picked up the cheroot and took a long draw, letting the smoke escape draconically through his nostrils. "It's changed; being out there really shifts your perspective. Now, it's whatever it takes to keep alive the ones I want to keep alive." He took a cigarette case from his leather jacket hanging on a nearby console dial, offering Lister a smoke. "It's a bit mercenary, I suppose, but it seems to work."

Lister took the small cigar and turned it over in his fingers before feeling around his pockets and producing his own lighter, waving away Ace's. The small cigars were not the cigarettes he was trying to quit, and he'd been craving some nicotine, any, to get him through this logistical headache. "I just can't get over it," he admitted, lighting up and taking a few puffs. "You remind me so much of my Rimmer - well, not MY Rimmer, the one from our ship. You look like him, sometimes you act like him – sort of. But then you do something completely unlike what I'd expect out of him."

"We may have diverged at a later point," Rimmer hedged. "It's not just early decisions, it's every decision. For example, there is a you who let me light his cigarette. There is a you who waved off my offer. It's every decision ever made."

Lister took a couple of puffs, wondering briefly if it mattered that this wasn’t his dimension’s Rimmer, but he knew it did. He'd like to talk to that one, maybe shed some guilt for pushing the guy out of the nest, but he also knew life didn't come preprogrammed with easy decisions for which you'd be absolved even if it turned out you'd made the right one. He realized it didn't bear asking. Surely if this was Rimmer, he would've said so; even being Ace wouldn't have tempered his modesty enough to keep quiet about it for so long now. "I'd always heard about parallel universes, but it just seemed too odd. What does it matter if I put milk in my tea or not today?"

"All has ramifications. Perhaps the milk has gone off. If so, and you drink it, you might end up sick. One thing I've learned, the universe is a giant Rube Goldberg machine, with the simplest little bullsmeggy things sometimes making the biggest difference."

"I guess that's a point." Lister drew in another sweet plume of tobacco and released it presently, closing his eyes and savoring the departure from his usual stale cigarettes.

"Why, I could spring up and snog you, bear you to the ground right here." Ace shrugged, keeping his expression even. "Each and every possible reaction you might have, from accepting it to kneeing me in the bollocks, will spawn a new Lister, each with a different memory and a different tree of possibilities." It was a risky example, but there was something in him that insisted he test out the man's reaction to the idea. It was probably a futile endeavor; after all, what would Lister do with him when he had Kochanski, his symbol of everything good and wonderful and wanted?

"That's all very true, I suppose." Lister shook his head. "But you wouldn't; your ship'd get jealous," he grinned.

"Knowing her, she'd monitor and nag me later about technique." He snorted, eyes twinkling. "Fancies herself a sort of expert on the subject."

Lister leaned back against the wall, relaxing almost to the point of sleep. It had been a while since he'd had reason to smile. Sure, they were facing a tough travel and uncertain outcome, but it was doing _something_ different. And that big, ugly rust bucket of a mining ship was at the end of this line. Odd how it seemed nostalgic now. "When are we leaving?"

"About three hours." He gestured behind him at the console. "Need to repair a couple of these relays so we don't turn inside out when we go through a dimension barrier, and see if there's anything I can leave behind to give us some more space."

Nodding, Lister leaned over to stub out the end of the cheroot in the ashtray; when it cooled, he'd tuck the rest in his hat for later. He watched Ace put his smoked stub in the tray and slide back under the console, fiddling with the wires. His eyes followed the hands, the arms, tried to pick out the parts of what Ace was doing that he could understand. His eyes grew heavier, though, and he finally sagged back against the wall, head against it, and slipped into the land of Nod.

Rimmer heard a soft snore and slid out a bit, spending several long moments watching Lister in his sleep. He smiled, waiting for the sinuses to get going, realizing he'd missed this noise more than he'd thought. He felt a warmth in his light bee; Lister still felt comfortable enough in his presence to pass out. His grin broadened and he slid back under, working with enthusiasm.  



	6. “Someone to Watch Over You”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace Rimmer may have waited too long to go home again, but with some help, he might just get the happy ending none of his predecessors did. Set in and after Series 8

_**Fic: Red Dwarf: Someone to Watch Over You**_  
Title: “Someone to Watch Over You”  
Writers: [](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/profile)[**metalkatt**](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/) and [](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/profile)[**veronica_rich**](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/)  


  


For the first time in his very long life, Arnold Rimmer was beginning to feel some sympathy for his parents. Normally, when he worked with groups of more than one or two people, the _Wildfire_ was safely nestled elsewhere until or unless she was needed to swing out and save the day.

"Move your elbow, Dormouse Cheeks!"

"Get your smeggin' knee out of my back, then!"

"Yes, Mr. Rochester, I'd love to go on a walk with you and get away from the rabble."

The AR machines had worked – to a point. They were restricted to games that didn't require much motion, which didn't sit well with the guys. More than once, Rimmer had been tempted to turn around and tell them to knock it the smeg off, or he was taking them back to die, but he couldn't quite make himself issue that harsh a threat just yet. Though, the way they were going on, it might not be long before he could.

One of his biggest pet peeves had developed in the form of people who adamantly refused to understand that he couldn't go ripping barriers between dimensions willy nilly; there were specific points at which he could cross without doing considerable damage to the multiverse, not to mention the _Wildfire_ , specific points that would be easy to pierce and easy to heal, and sometimes, it took a bit of travel to get there. He considered shutting off his hearing, but knew that if something truly dangerous were approaching, he'd need to be able to hear the Cat screech about whatever it was he was smelling. "How many jumps left, Nona-love?" he murmured very softly.

"Four," she displayed on the console, pulling up a multidimensional map. "About twelve hours between each one, not counting planet leave, which we'd better do after the next jump in two hours."

"Honestly, it's like shuttling a bunch of bloody kids."

"There's GONNA be blood, you don't let us out soon," the Cat called out from the back. Damn the felinoid's superior hearing! "Monkey Boy here won't stop smacking into me."

Unable to take it any longer, Lister waited for a point to sneak away and move up the small, narrow corridor toward the cockpit. He couldn’t get in the pilot's seat, and he wasn't a long way from the rest of them, but that was okay – it was a bubble of peace, at least. Quietly, he settled himself in the corridor a couple of feet behind the pilot, crossing his legs and settling his head back against the wall.

After two minutes, he finally released a long-held breath. "Smeeeeeeeeggggg," he whispered. It felt good. "Smeeeegggggg ... smeeeeeggggg ..." He did this a few times, like a mantra, eyes closed, trying to recover his equilibrium for at least a little while.

"I liked the Ohm song better," Rimmer remarked, offhanded, listening in.

Lister started to laugh; loudly, until he figured out the two in the back might catch on that he'd yellow-bellied away from their little hell. He quieted; surely the laugh should be over with by now – except, he kept seeing himself, his younger self, in his mind's eye, and all he could think was how ridiculous he'd looked and sounded. He stopped laughing, cleared his throat ... and chant-sang, softly, "Ohmmmm ... Ohmmmm."

And promptly went off into another fit of quiet laughter, snorting instead of giggling aloud this time.

"We've only got two hours, and then we'll find a planet and camp down for the night, turn Kryten back on and let him stretch his cables out." Rimmer shifted in his seat, trying to unclench the muscles of his back. His bee simulated the effects of being human as well as the abilities. "It won't be too much longer, and we'll be there."

Lister shook his head after his laughter had finally subsided, feeling exhausted and refreshed all at once. "I don't get it," he said. "I love 'em both, but ... if I ever volunteer to stay in a tiny space with the two of them for that long ever again, I want you to whack me with a wrench, or something. And I mean EVER." _How could two good friends become so smegging annoying after just a few days?_ he wondered. _You knew things were bad when you were crawling off to sit near any Rimmer to get a break._

Rimmer had flashbacks to the time he'd trapped them all in quarantine, and the mess that had turned into, and snickered softly. "Well, you know how it is when you're shoved in with folks and no hope of escape. I have some plush penguin puppets in a box for when I save children; I could get one out and glare at you with it if it'd make you feel better."

It had been so out of nowhere that it caught Lister broadside. "What did you say?"

"That was your dimension, wasn't it?" Rimmer swallowed, eyes going wide as he tried to think of a proper cover. "Or, was that just a fever dream?" He belatedly remembered his earlier remark. “Like the Ohm song?”

"It was like it at the time." He'd quickly remembered that the Ace program absorbed these bits of memories. "Actually, it's a little like quarantine now, back there. I had to leave before I decked the Cat."

"Probably no different than my brief thoughts of opening the airlock and flushing you all out into space," Rimmer admitted on a sigh. "Then, I remind myself why we're doing this, and do the adult equivalent of begging Nona to know if we're there yet."

Lister was slowly getting used to Ace acting like a human being instead of Captain Planet – and realized it wasn't half bad. It was almost like Rimmer had acted at times when he wasn't being a complete nut and was, well, just _normal._ Something occurred to him. "I don't know if you're supposed to thank space heroes, but this is a really nice thing you're doing, Ace." He hit a little pause before the name, having to correct himself not to say "Rimmer" by reflex. "Getting us back to the _Dwarf_. Putting up with all of us on your ship." He paused for effect. "Even if you did kill _Starbug_." He strove for a light tone.

"Not many people say it like that and mean it like that," Rimmer mused. "Means a lot to hear it sincerely and not just in the 'Oh, Ace, please take me now!" He paused, pondering a moment. "You're welcome, Listy."

Lister was getting used to the random bits of Rimmer emerging from this programming. That Fiona was something else, keeping track of all his old events – at first, Lister had been uneasy hearing shadows of Rimmer in there. He felt guilty for how he'd made the hologram leave. But if he was still somewhere in there for the future Aces ... well, maybe it wasn't so bad after all. Putting his hands briefly to his face, he realized he was about to cry, and there wasn't even a movie in sight. Instead, he breathed deeply a few times, quietly, and chased away the melancholy. No use getting into this here; he would wait until he got back to the _Dwarf_ , some beer and private quarters, and have a drink to his weird, smegging old bastard of a friend.

Likely dead now.

Meanwhile, Rimmer bit his lip, pondering how to phrase a question that had been bugging him for awhile, one he'd rather ask privately. "Lister?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think there'd be room on the _Dwarf_ for five of us? I've been considering retirement, at least temporary retirement, for a few years now ... And, we seemed to do well together before. All of us, I mean. In the Tank."

"Well, God, Ace, that ship's big enough for the population of Liverpool." He blew out a breath. "Sure. I mean, that'd be great, yeah!" He thought about how this wasn't the Rimmer he'd left behind a few years ago – but it was the Rimmer he'd spent the better part of a year getting to know, and he wasn't so bad at all. "What about your ship, though?"

"She's been after me for some downtime so she can clean her caches, perhaps update some of her programs. She's been going for a few thousand years, and wants a rest. I can rather understand her."

"So ..." _You'd just stay a while? Go off at some point again when the wanderlust or need for accolades catches your fancy?_ That made Lister think. "Y'know ... things aren't always peaceful with the group of us. I mean, you realize if you spend time day in and day out with other people, they're going to yell at you, and find fault, and want to kick your arse every so often, yeah? I don't know if you're up to it, frankly. You did a good acting job on the _Dwarf_ all those months, but you're a naturally pleasant sort. You sure 'too much togetherness,' as Gran used to say, wouldn't wear on you after a while?"

Rimmer was tired of pretending, tired of being someone he was not. He wanted to go home, to let himself be himself again. "I could always go on vacation down to the diesel decks. The ship is as big as a city; if we didn't want to be near each other, we wouldn't have to be." He sighed. "I'm tired of being a 'hero;' I've been at it for so damn long. I want a home." His tone wistful, it was as close to an admission as he could get at the moment.

He felt sorry for the guy, suddenly. Lister thought if he had access to go anywhere he wanted, in a ship like this, he'd head straight for ... He furrowed his brow and thought that over. _Fiji. Earth. Pinball smile._ That had been his default setting for many years. He realized, though, that it was all sort of hazy – he hadn't seen the first two in forever, and this wasn't his Kris. _She's my bleedin' mother_ , he reminded himself, something he tried not to think of often. _Or at least egg donor._

How could he not automatically think of Fiji and oceans and sand? Or rather, how could he think of them and not automatically see a white-skirted figure waving at him anymore? "Ask the others," Lister finally said. "I don't think anyone'll object. I've certainly no issue with it."

"I'll wait a bit after we get there to bring it up. I'm sure everyone will scurry off to different corners of the ship for some alone time."

"If the Cat keeps spending so much time in the middle of the Bennett sisters, he's going to need alone time, a steady stream of cold water, and fresh towels every six hours," Lister grumbled. "Not to mention a light bee to do it all with, since I'm pretty sure Kris is close to punching his timecard."

"He better not get _that_ on my sheets," Rimmer grumped. "That's expensive cotton!"

"Aww, c'mon, Ace." Lister pulled a sly tone, needling. "I'm sure the thread-count troops've seen plenty of action already."

"There's a reason for the detergent in the linen cupboard."

"I think your sheets are safe. Besides, the Cat prefers his 'alone time' in a much more cramped space. That's practically gargantuan back there, for him."

"That's a relief," Rimmer sighed. "You know … I rather enjoy these sorts of missions where I'm not obligated to have sex with anyone. It's quite a refreshing change."

"As I said: Don't get in the Cat's way for a couple of days, and your streak might stay ended." They both fell silent after that, Lister focusing on his game and his thoughts, and Rimmer on his piloting – and his thoughts.

Within the promised two hours, they arrived at the jump coordinates, and Rimmer began the startup of the dimension drive. "All right, everyone, hold on,” he called through the tiny ship’s mike system. “We're about to cross dimensions.”

He was becoming used to it, feeling himself stretch, then squish, and hearing the voice of his counterpart in that dimension, indistinct, but extant as they passed the barrier. But if being squeezed like a citrus could be an Olympic sport, Lister felt sure he'd border on the gold. He had to clap a hand to his mouth and bang his head back against the wall, give himself some other pain to focus on, to keep from vaulting up the contents of his stomach after they went through. He made a gagging sound as he swallowed desperately, trying to shut out a retching in the back that told him somebody else hadn't been so lucky.

Rimmer winced and punched in the course for the plotted planet, pushing the _Wildfire's_ engines to get them there just that little bit faster. The sour scent of bile would just make everyone crankier, and he swore to do some sort of wash in whatever stream, river, or lake they happened to land beside.  



	7. “Someone to Watch Over You”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace Rimmer may have waited too long to go home again, but with some help, he might just get the happy ending none of his predecessors did. Set in and after Series 8

_**Fic: Red Dwarf: Someone to Watch Over You**_  
Title: “Someone to Watch Over You”  
Writers: [](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/profile)[**metalkatt**](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/) and [](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/profile)[**veronica_rich**](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/)  


Glasses of real, clean water sat on the card table, and Kochanski shifted in her seat, obviously uncomfortable in Cat's clothes. Her own hung on a nearby branch, drying from their wash. Kryten busied himself at the campfire, trying to make tasty some of the ingredients he'd gotten from the food dispenser as the others played cards and enjoyed the fresh air and personal space.

Lister pounded down out of the hatch, jumping the last step and landing in a dangerous clink of bottles and bits of metal attached to his leather jacket. "RE-SULT!" he announced, crossing to the table and proceeding to cover a third of it in full and partial bottles of varying alcoholic beverages, fine and otherwise.

"Find the drinks cupboard, I take it?" Rimmer asked without looking up. "If you see something that's blaringly bright neon blue or electric orange, don't drink. Kryten's the only one who can digest those."

"Your drinks cupboard was pathetic," Lister announced. "This is MY stash."

Rimmer blinked, and looked up. "When did you stock my ship with booze?"

Suddenly, three other pairs of eyes were on him, and Lister realized the consequences of his impulse. "Um, well ... a bottle here, a bottle there. They're really small." He held one up. "See? So small!"

The Cat narrowed his eyes, both sets of lids flickering. "I had to leave behind fifteen suits!" he cried. Lister couldn't tell if the felinoid wanted to scratch him or start caterwauling.

"And I'm having to wear one of the five he was allowed!" Kochanski bellowed. Lister frowned; he'd never heard quite that tone before.

But perhaps the most affected was Kryten. Kryten, who never said a word against a human, especially Dave Lister, slammed down the pan he was holding on the ground, and lurched over to the table. He pointed accusingly at the human. "Mr. Lister! I shut myself off and folded up in a closet for you!"

Lister tried to think of something comforting to say, looking about while he considered, but all he could see were the multitudes of bottles. Cursed, smegging, taunting, shiny, wonderful, divine bottles of brew and spirits and fermentation … Struck with an idea, he picked up the small jug first. "I brought your android homebrew," he told Kryten, holding it out to the mechanoid. "Go ahead, Kryt; take a load off. You deserve it!"

For a split second, the mechanoid looked as though he might actually break his last programming code once and for all and belt Lister in the chops. But it passed, replaced by surprise – and then the familiar gratitude. "You remembered it!' he nearly sniffled. "My hooch!"

"Go crazy, man. Just don't take your head apart like last time." He proceeded to search and finally found a full bottle of a cream-based liqueur Bob the skutter had nicked from the captain's quarters, holding it out to the Cat. "Peace, guy?" he asked.

Rimmer looked among them as if he were following a game. He'd missed this sort of arguing, the kind where you didn't have to be self-conscious, or even rational, just annoyed. A half-smile played upon his lips, and he reached out to snag one of the bottles, enjoying the show. He considered telling Cat about wardrobes of his old clothes he’d found on the _Dwarf_ he could alter, but it was simply too amusing to watch them bicker.

As Lister offered a bottle to Kochanski, she narrowed her eyes. "Trying to get me drunk?" she asked, mock-sweetly, an eyebrow raised.

"Hey, my name's not Tim," he retorted.

Rimmer, who remembered Tim quite well – or at least younger Lister’s diatribes against Tim – took a healthy swig of whatever he'd laid his hand on to keep from giving any editorial comment.

"Give me that." Kochanski stood up and leaned over, snatching the amaretto-type liquor out of Lister’s hand. She read the label. "Too sweet," she muttered, then shrugged. "You don't have anything like Jager in there, do you?"

"Beggars and choosers," Lister muttered, cheerfully. He picked through. "Hope springs eternal ... what's this green one- No, sorry." He offered her a fifth of something. "We do have some lovely tequila as a parting gift, however."

"Grand," she pronounced, taking her seat and unscrewing the top. "I'll close my eyes and pretend it's a margarita and a pool boy."

"I could help with the latter, if you like," Rimmer grinned, giving a bounce of his eyebrows, finally joining in. "Lister doesn't know how to clean up after himself, much less such a lady, and the Cat doesn't do service."

"You're damn right we don't. Half the time now, I'm being so un-catly that I have to scamper off after I'm done working-" Cat spat the word with distaste "-and go be feline."

Kochanski swallowed a long pull of tequila, made a brief face ... and smiled exaggeratedly at Ace. "Few more belts like that and I might let you," she informed him, saluting with the bottle.

Rimmer sighed. "Never change, Kris." She furrowed her brows at him and he chuckled, taking another drink. "Look, Davy-boy, are we going to play or not?"

"Yeah ... okay, fine ..." Lister was still trying to figure out what he wanted to imbibe, bobbing up and down a bit in place as he hummed and picked each over. "Deal me a hand."

Rimmer passed out the cards, leaning back in his chair as he arranged his own hand. "There's a pair of jokers in the pack for wilds; we're all adults, and don't need half the cards to be." The Cat began to purr, and the pilot rolled his eyes. "You do realize that when you purr like that, nobody wants to play against you? You always purr when you have a good hand; it's a horrible tell."

Cat frowned over at Rimmer. "I am a cat. I purr when I am pleased. I already work like a dog, Missing Goalpost-Head; don't you tell me I can't purr."

"SMEGGING HELL! YES!' Lister air-pumped as he waved aloft a bottle of good absinthe. He took his seat near Ace and set down the bottle long enough to pick up his cards and look them over. Arranging them in one hand, he stretched out his legs, hooked one ankle over the other, and flicked the cap off the absinthe to take his first sip.

Rimmer blinked. "Oh, no, not absinthe. Kris, you are taking care of him this time when he starts blubbering and composing schmoopy poetry about you. I'm not doing that again."

Lister chuckled evilly, letting the liquor slide down. He studied his cards, took another drink ... and the last bit of it stuck in the back of his throat. Forcing it down and battling against the little popping white spots in front of his eyes that told him it was beginning its rapid-fire work, he looked sideways at Ace and arched both eyebrows. "What'd you just say?"

"I said, I am not taking care of you when you start blubbering and composing poetry to 'the most perfect woman in the world,'" Rimmer repeated. "I was wearing real clothes that day, and I had to wash all the salt and snot out of them."

"I remember that night!" Cat piped up, looking to Lister. "It was amazing. You caterwauled like a diva, buddy. Better than anything I'd ever heard back when my eyes hadn't opened."

Lister didn’t answer that. “Wait,” he said slowly, looking to Ace. “What do you mean, YOU had to wash the salt and snot out?” He looked back at the Cat, meeting his eyes, willing the felinoid for once to make the same connection he was. He flicked his eyes to Ace, then back to the Cat, then back to Ace, trying to hint silently.

"Stop trying to be subtle, Dave," Kochanski sighed. "You're not good at it." She looked over at Ace, straight in the eye, a few belts down on her tequila and alarmingly blunt. "Why did you lie to us? You couldn't have just come out and said you were their Rimmer?"

Rimmer arched an eyebrow; he’d had enough. "And, would you have really believed me, when I tried to express how much danger you were all in? Or about anything? I doubt you'd even believe me if I told you how long I'd been doing this, and why I'm ready for retirement."

Though he'd been the first to telegraph the idea to the group, hearing confirmation turned Lister's head. Literally. _“RIMMER?”_ he exclaimed. He'd half-expected to be told yet again it was programming. “Fuck!”

"Not here; there's too many people." The joke rolled off the Ace-trained tongue, glib and easy, as he hoped to avoid a fist to the jaw at that particular moment. "Yes, Lister, it's me. I managed to survive as Ace, and do the job well."

One of the old traditional insults rose to the edge of Lister's tongue, but he let it die, staring at – shit, it was Rimmer. Alive! _Well, at least not dead. At least not dead-dead._ He had no words for how ridiculously chirpy this suddenly made him feel. Instead of answering, he did what Lister did anytime he saw an old friend: He hopped up and leaned over, throwing his arms around the apparition. "You old smeghead," he said into the man's hair, trying manfully not to leak alcohol-aided tears.

Rimmer returned the embrace, closing his eyes as he tipped his head to slide his temple over Lister's. "When you get to the pissed-off stage, let me know before you belt me, yeah?" he murmured.

"Sure as hell don't _smell_ like Goalpost-Head," Cat huffed.

"Part of the biometric hardware on the bee," Rimmer explained. "It puts out scent and a false bioprint so I appear as human."

"Why?"

"I had to think of how many senses I might have to dupe. After being around you, I insisted that the scent be added – if I couldn't fool your nose, I couldn't be safe."

Cat blinked. "Is that a compliment?"

"Yes, actually. Quite a high one."

"Yeah, that's what makes me think you aren't Smeghead."

Too many emotions confused Lister – the dominant, driving one was possession, elation. An explicable wish to keep his arms around his old adversary for a while. But he recognized others as well – such as confusion. More confusion. And the anger that came with confusion.

He pulled upright, staring down at Rimmer, furrowing his eyebrows in consternation, face darkening. "What the bleedin' Christ have you been doing with us?" he demanded. "Having us on – either now or for all those months, one?”

"Here it comes," Rimmer muttered. "I told you, I came back to keep you safe. I couldn't do that if you knew I was me. You had to think I was an abject, smeggy little coward."

Before Lister could speak, Kochanski leaned forward. "Safe from what?" Everybody else looked equally puzzled.

"Safe from madness and death," Rimmer sighed, passing his hands over his face, muttering, "A little knowledge can be a dangerous thing."

"Is that why you refused to tell us?" she asked. "What's wrong with us that we couldn't handle the truth?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. But, I needed time. If you'd known, we wouldn't have had the time to get us where we're going even as fast as we are. The calculations for this are immense; jumping multiple, directed dimensions is insanely difficult."

"But what was the deal with _Red Dwarf_ in the first place? And the crew?" the Cat asked.

"And the TANK?" Lister interjected, hackles rising. "Prison? Did you do that?"

Rimmer shook his head. "No, the Tank was _not_ my fault. The only thing I had to do with that was to get myself in there with you." He looked over at the Cat. "The crew was also not my idea. I wasn’t expecting them at all."

"So the nanobots, those were real?" Lister had finally backed up into his seat again, but the cards, the absinthe, were forgotten for the moment as he concentrated on Rimmer and his explanation.

"Yes. We went to find them so they'd build the ship for you. And your arm."

NOW the absinthe wanted to chug around and take hold. Of all the times ... Lister eyed the bottle and took another good swig, a firm acolyte of the hair-of-the-dog rule. He waited until he felt clear-headed again, then blinked and focused back on Rimmer. "Wait – the nanobots weren't left ... we didn't leave the nanobots on the planet? I thought they reconstructed the ship? The crew?"

"They did," Rimmer sighed. "After we--Holly, Nona and me, that is--put them back. I don't even remember where we found them. You'd have to ask Holly. He did the calculations. I've been out playing Ace for over a century, but complex mathematics is still not my strong suit."

"HOLLY?" Lister, the Cat, and even Kryten all piped in as a unit, nearly synchronized. It drowned out comprehension of what else Rimmer had just said.

"Yes, all right?" Rimmer stood up, frustration in every line of his face as he smacked his hands on the rickety table, making everything on it jump. "Yes, Holly did the calculations, just like Nona does them for me. I found our old Holly, he told me what was going to happen to you all if you didn't have them, and I worked it out with him to put them back so you wouldn't have to live that way." The pilot pushed up his shirtsleeve, exposing the large watch where the aforementioned computer slept. He took it off and gave it a shake. "Wake up, damn you," he snapped. "I'm not taking the entire brunt of this."

A part of Lister's brain noted it was fascinating to watch this Rimmer-Ace hybrid. Not wholly a bastard, yet no natural hero, the guy was ... no, “average” wasn't right. Neither was “normal.” He didn't have an easy adjective.

When the watch didn't respond, Rimmer smacked one end of the wristband on the table. "Out of sleep mode, you stupid jumped-up Filofax!"

"Oi, what's with the rude awakening? You know I'm jiggered after everything I've been doing."

Rimmer laid the watch on the table, face-up. "Project so you can see everyone. I know you can do it; I upgraded you myself."

There was a shimmer, and a translucent 3-D image of Holly's head appeared in mid-air, looking about. "What's happening, dudes?" he asked, still groggy from sleep mode.

"Holly!" Lister barked. He had almost no doubt of the answer, but had to ask. He pointed at Rimmer. "Is this git the original Rimmer from our universe, or not?"

"Yeah, it's 'im," Holly confirmed, then addressed Rimmer. "Thought you weren't going to tell them."

"They're not stupid. Even Kris probably had it figured out the moment I set foot on board the _'Bug_."

"Well ..." She scratched the side of her head, screwing up her face, the liquor working on her tongue. "Actually, I just figured you were there for Dave, for some reason. I didn't figure out the rest until later." Rimmer choked a little, but said nothing.

"Always knew you were a bright girl," Holly praised.

"Tell them, Holly," Rimmer directed.

"What, that you agreed amuse me in return for my helping you find them and make things better?" The projection raised an eyebrow in interest. "That you practically begged me to find a way to save them? That you nearly had a hologrammatic heart attack when you found me and I told you they'd been dead for decades?"

"Any and all of that," Rimmer gritted out. "I refuse to take all the blame for the problems here."

"But, it is your fault. I only did any of this because you asked me to."

"You are talking your way into a smashed watch face," the hologram warned.

"Wait – hold it, both of you." Lister made a T of his hands, looking between them. "What are you two on about? What did we need protecting from? Why had we been dead so long? What was the crew doing resurrected? Why were we in prison?" He directed this last one to Rimmer. "Since when was the dimension drive capable of being directed somewhere specific?"

"The fact remains," Holly sighed, distracting from the rapid-fire questions, "that yes, the Tank and the crew were my idea. I needed to keep you all occupied while I worked this out with his ship, because I wasn't even sure we could do it. You might have noticed that despite everything, life on the rebuilt _Red Dwarf_ was pretty darned easy for you. Your missions were little different than the runs you used to make on the _Starbug_ , you had a nice cell and loads of privileges. None of you were hurt or mistreated much, and even when you cocked things up beyond belief, you still got off easy."

Lister happened to catch out of the corner of his eye Rimmer making a gesture toward Holly and mouthing a _See?_ to Lister.

Lister rolled his eyes. _Smeghead_ , he mouthed back.

"So, what are you planning to do, then?" Holly asked. "Smash me? Toss me into the river?"

"No, you're going back into sleep mode, and I'm putting you back on," Rimmer grumped. "And then I'm going to get very drunk."

"Don't you forget to fish me out when we get home," Holly warned. "You may be a passable pilot, but it takes a six thousand IQ to power that big bad red boy."

"Nag, nag. Yes, Mother," came the huff, and after Holly powered down, Rimmer donned the watch again. "Satisfied?" he asked, looking around at them in challenge as he buckled it to his wrist.

Lister crossed his arms, a shit-eating grin stretching his broad cheeks. "So ...."

"What?" Rimmer turned his focus on Lister, his intense, irked gaze trying to burn through him. _What’s with the sudden attitude change?_

Lister gave a little shrug, uncrossed his arms, and sat back down, picking up his cards. Studying them, his grin didn't budge, but he looked around at everyone. "Are we playin' and drinking, or just gawping?" he asked.

Glances were shared across the table, and there was a dismayed noise from Kryten as he rushed back over to the fire to tend the food. They settled back in their chairs, obviously uneasy, and resumed playing.

Lister worried he'd have to say something, do a little dance, do a dramatic reading before they would all act like themselves again. However, he'd underestimated everybody's ability to adapt – surprising of him, given their circumstances and shared history. Bit by bit, as they drew and discarded, placed bets and challenged and folded, the conversation picked up, the mood became more animated, and it wasn't long before everybody was trading insults and gibes and insults again.

At one point it was down to just him and Rimmer, and he held his cards up, making a show of scrutinizing them hard, waiting to see what Rimmer would do with his hand. The hologram was remarkably blank-faced, and his nostrils were amazingly still as he looked over his own hand down in his lap. "Make a decision, there," Lister prodded.

"I'll bet three hundred," Rimmer began, "and take everything you've got." He couldn't count the number of times he'd used this same technique on opponents, from card sharps to psychotic murderers, daring them to call his bet. Most of the time, they backed down at that intense, slightly mad look in his eye, but on the times they didn't, either he had a backup plan in place or he figured one out on the fly. Which would Lister be, he wondered: ready to bring on the challenge, or cautious?

"I'll bet a smegging guitar if I can ever find it again," snorted Lister, moving a card around, "and a _Blue Midget_." He glanced up at Rimmer. "Same caveat."

Rimmer felt his stomach clench pleasantly, and the grin that spread across his face was pure Ace enjoyment. Accepted! He laid his cards down. "Four kings."

"Hey, not bad, man!" Lister grinned, sighed, and tried to look defeated. Then, he held up a forefinger. "But – as everybody knows, the only thing that beats one Ace is four of 'em." He tossed his hand on top of Rimmer's cards, the lonely two of hearts dwarfed by all the single-digits fanned beneath it.

"Oh, son of a bitch," Rimmer swore, then sighed. "Looks like I'm yours, Listy; you just can't have my ship."

Lister leaned forward and gathered up the cards, grinning. It was odd, he suddenly noticed, how everyone was being quiet – or maybe he just didn't hear them over the crowd of his own thoughts, speculations, and memories. He realized he needed time to consider all the revelations of this evening, to sort them out and decide what he needed to do with the whole messy jumble.

"First, I'll start with the three hundred," he answered, finally, raised eyebrow pointed in Rimmer's direction. "Then, I'll decide from there."

"My wallet's inside the _Wildfire_." He chucked a thumb back at the ship, sarcasm cranked up. "You want to go back in with me so you make sure I don't run off to escape my debt?"

Lister smirked. "If you run off, all the effort you put into rescuing us would be wasted."

Rimmer nodded, pursing his lips in agreement. "Well, you have a good point there. I'll just make sure to get out the mallet and crowbar so I can crack it open."

It was nice to have a joke remembered, Lister thought. "You sure about the ship? I think she has a thing for me, man."

"I don't care. She and I have been together damn near forever, and I'm never betting her away."

"You used to make fun of those 'obsessed' captains, as you called it," he reminded the man. "You yelled at Smith when we watched 'Titanic' because the man went down with his ship."

"Nona's self-aware," Rimmer pointed out. "She's an advanced AI; she's not just a hunk of metal with a complex steering system." He waved a hand at Kochanski. "Would you bet her away, after you've been together for years? Somehow, I don't think so."

Lister glanced at the woman, surprised. "I don't know, Arn – I don't really ride her around and get under her hood that often." Kochanski, now turned around and conversing with Kryten, remained thankfully oblivious to their conversation.

"Ms. Everything-You've-Ever-Wanted?" Rimmer shook his head, tipsy from the alcohol and sounding sort of nonsensical to himself. "I still don't believe you'd do it."

"Do what?" Kris piped up, having turned back around. Her tequila was a third down, and she wasn’t much sharper than Rimmer at this point. It was probably as much as Lister had ever seen her drink.

"Bet you in a card game," Cat supplied, _sotto voce_.

"Bet _me_?" She laughed, sharp and loudly. Then, hiccupped. "Against an Ace?” For some reason the guys wouldn’t find out for a long time, she found this really rather funny.  



	8. “Someone to Watch Over You”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace Rimmer may have waited too long to go home again, but with some help, he might just get the happy ending none of his predecessors did. Set in and after Series 8

_**Fic: Red Dwarf: Someone to Watch Over You**_  
Title: “Someone to Watch Over You”  
Writers: [](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/profile)[**metalkatt**](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/) and [](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/profile)[**veronica_rich**](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/)  


  


"Ace?"

"Hmm? What is it, Nona?" Rimmer closed the little game of solitaire he'd been playing on the panel while the others slept, and turned his attention to the instruments that glowed in the dim light.

"We're almost to the last jump, but I don't like what I'm getting through the sensors." She displayed the dimensional schematics of the system they were in, and he frowned at them. "There's a planet here in this dimension, but in our target-"

"An asteroid belt," he finished, glancing over the readouts. "And, it's not like we're going to be playing hide-and-seek like normal-"

"We'll have to worry about G-forces," she agreed, and he could hear the tinny buzz that was starting to creep into her voice system. "No reason we can't still have a little fun, but more than two or three on them, and they'll black right out."

He snorted. "You'd think the JMC would put a little more training into their crew members, but I know what you mean." He petted the console absently. "How much longer before we jump?"

"Ten minutes. And before you ask, the next closest safe jump point is six weeks away. Arnold, I'm begging you, don't make me go through six more weeks with them. I'm not even sure I can last the five hours it should take to get from the entry point to the big ship." He heard her sigh, and he ran his fingers over her soothingly. "This is what you missed? Are you serious? The tension level is so high in here that it's a wonder it doesn't overcome my hull integrity. And you lived with these people in tight quarters for all that time?"

"Not Kochanski," he corrected. "And, it's all down to space. You are beautiful, Nona, but you are a little tight to fit four people and a mech in the boot. Even on the _'Bug_ , we had more space than this. The only time I've ever seen them this insane is when I got sick and locked them up in quarantine." He shook his head. "Damned holoviruses. Lucky I've never come across another one. It'll all be over soon, I promise."

"And then I get to rest, right? You promised. At least a month while you fix me, and if we can't stay there, then we're going somewhere I can sleep and clean my cache." She sounded so heartbreakingly guarded that Rimmer wished he could hug her.

"I promise. A month to fix all the bad connections no matter what, and then if they run us out, we'll find a nice, sunny planet somewhere, and both go offline for awhile." He gave a soft, sad smile. "Might need you to clear out _my_ caches, too, make me forget who I was, who I am, if that happens."

"I really would prefer not to do that, Arn. I like you this way. You're not an annoying, hypersexual prat."

"Are you speaking ill of the squillions of dead, Nona?"

"No, speaking highly of the one dead-alive," she huffed. "Go wake up the others and get out the harnesses."

He hummed at her as he turned the chair, stroking the yoke on his way by. "Don't worry, baby; we're still going to play."

It took him some time to get the others to wake up – Kochanski glared and growled, and Cat actively tried to shred him. Lister was the only one who didn't seem to be too put out at being roused, and Rimmer instructed them how to put the cots up so they could secure themselves on the seats that folded up under them.

"How come you didn't pull these out before?" she asked, clicking the leads of her safety harness into place in the padded metal chair.

"Trust me, the cots are far more comfortable. These'd break your back if you use them for casual sitting – they're specifically designed to keep you in a certain position to minimize damage."

"Damage?" Cat tried to stand so he could whirl around, but Rimmer guided him back into place with a very firm push on the head.

"Sit," he instructed. "We're jumping into the middle of an asteroid belt. We get to go for a bit of a run."

"But, that's dangerous!" Kochanski snapped. "Don't you know-"

Rimmer leaned over to put one hand on the back of her seat, and one on its arm. "Do you want to be stuck here for another six smegging weeks while we get to another jump point? Do you think I want to? Do you think any of us wants to? Do me a favor – sit down in your chair and hang on. Contrary to what you may have heard about me, or remember from your dimension's version of me, I do know what I'm doing, and I'm perfectly capable of doing it." He paused. "And be very glad I'm not Ace right now, or you would be on the receiving end of a very long, deep snog." He turned, making sure the Cat and Lister were secure before checking hers and heading back up. "And, do try not to scream," he called back to them. "I don't like having to turn off my ears."

******

The jump was fairly smooth this time, and Rimmer was relieved not to hear any sort of retching coming from the back. He jumped in his seat as an asteroid barely missed the _Wildfire's_ nose, and then grinned. He interfaced with the ship, and a heads up display appeared in his left eye, feeding him information about proximity, targeting, and a host of other factors useful in combat--or, in this case, playing with asteroids. "You ready, babygirl?" he purred, taking hold of the yoke.

"Fly me, sweetness."

She didn't have to tell him twice. They were off like a shot, rolling between asteroids with the ease of longtime teamwork. At first, she had taken him to small asteroid fields to get used to piloting in changing conditions, but Arnold had pleasantly surprised her by taking to it quite naturally. She had continued to step up the challenges, and he had continued to learn, excelling at the gentle – and sometimes not-so-gentle – movements it took to guide her around in such situations. Eventually, it had become a game; they slipped about in tight belts, twisting, spinning, looping, hitting forces that would have killed a normal human several dozen times over.

He'd already largely forgotten about the passengers he carried, Lister's whoops, Kris's yelps, and Cat's battle roar all distant background. They dove and spun, back-looping and fore, twisting to fit the wide, flat profile of his beautiful ship among the moving rocks. He laughed with exhilaration; he'd always loved flying. He'd just never been allowed to do it until well after his death because of his low rank. He could hear Nona laughing with him, and he loaded her energy-based armaments, grinning madly. There was no sound as the energy weapons ripped flashily into the rock around them, creating smaller debris he had to dodge.

"Over to the left!" Nona called, and Rimmer responded, rolling gracefully before shooting the obstacle to dust. Another loop and he bore up on a rather large piece above them, the ship shuddering as she spat pulses of pure energy to blow it up as well. "Right under us!" He took them straight up, giggling darkly. It was just his ship, his manic glee, and himself now, and he pouted as Nona braked to reduce their acceleration.

"Nona, what are you doing?" he demanded, changing direction abruptly to avoid another fast-moving object.

"We have people on board?"

"Spoilsport," he huffed, nostrils flaring, the green of his eyes seeming to grow deeper from the rush.

They finally lifted out from the plane of the belt, and he set the ship to autopilot as he leaned back, a satisfied grin on his face. "That was brilliant, love," he sighed. "Just brilliant." He slapped his hands on his thighs and swiveled the chair, looking back. "Everyone tickety-boo?"

"Rimmer, what the smeg was that?" Lister was looking at him in open-mouthed astonishment. "You could've gotten us killed!"

"I've always been good at flight-sims," he replied with a shrug. "And that? Pfft. That was one of those old playhouses with bouncy balls. I've flown far thicker and denser ones."

Lister growled, but was cut off by Kochanski. She giggled, then laughed, the tension from the ride bubbling out. "You're just upset because he could take us through an asteroid field, and you couldn't navigate a comet tail."

"I am not!"

"Hey, comet tails are tricky," Rimmer confirmed. "The little tiny dust can jam your sensors and really mess you up."

"Yeah!" Lister nodded firmly in agreement. "What he said."

They were all interrupted by a strangled moan. "Cat!" Rimmer was on his feet in a flash. "Cat, are you all right?"

The feline moaned and rolled his head to look up at Rimmer. "Get this off me, Missing-Goalpost-Head! If this damn thing puts my tackle out of commission, I'm going to take it out of your hide, now that I can claw it."

Rimmer laughed and undid the buckles, helping him out of his seat while he folded it down and kicked it back into place. "Lister has a bigger dick than you do, and you don't see him bitching." Another chuckle. "You really are a smegging pussy, aren't you?"

Lister guffawed as he tried to unbuckle himself. "How do _you_ know?" Kochanski taunted. She was finding the seat rather comfortable, but then again, she didn't have any dangly bits to get in the way of things.

"Kris, we're guys. We’re not like you women; if we have to share close quarters, we don’t put up curtains to change." He finished helping them all get loose and bring the cots down into place, and helped Cat sit very gently upon one before stowing the gear away again. "That was the last hop. We're in our home dimension. Nona says it'll take about five hours for us to get to the small rouge one, and then we can spread out and have as much space as we want."

 _Five hours_ , Lister thought. Might as well be five years, but something not-quite-heaven and much better than hell was waiting for them, and he found he suddenly didn't give a smeg if it were five centuries, as long as he got there.

*******

By the time Fiona and Rimmer had traced all the dimensional threads back to the large abandoned mining ship, nearly nine days of too much togetherness had passed. Upon disembarking from the little craft, everybody trudged in the same general direction, up the lift, down a few corridors – and then promptly fanned out to as many corners as they could reasonably get away from one another without so much as a “see you later.” Tempers long since sparked and flared had subsided, frayed, and gone into hiding, so not even a “smeg off” or “fuck you” slipped out past the yawns and nearly inaudible grunts.

Lister found his old belongings near the parallel cabin he’d last inhabited on his original _Dwarf_. There was a thick layer of dust; he gave the upper bunk and pillows a quick shaking-out before shedding everything but undershirt and boxers and crawling up into the mostly gunmetal-colored cocoon. He figured he might have trouble sleeping, but didn’t even realize he’d gone to sleep until he woke up much, much later with an urge to empty his bladder. It wasn’t until he came out of the small bathroom that he noticed the telltale softly nasal whine emanating from the lower bunk.

 _Rimmer._ He sighed, crossing his arms and watching the hologram sleep for a couple of minutes. He hadn’t been there when Lister fell asleep, he was reasonably certain – the last he’d seen Rimsey, he’d been heading toward the drive room to interface Holly back with the ship’s mainframe. He wondered if the man had even attempted to choose other quarters – by the brown leather jacket tossed onto the table, the watch on top of it, and knee-length boots slumped near one of the chairs, he guessed not. Quietly, Lister climbed up into his bunk. Five minutes later, bored and temporarily unable to get back to sleep, he rolled onto his stomach and scooted to hang his head over the edge of the bed.

Sprawled on his back, Rimmer slept hard, still partly dressed in a dark green t-shirt that bared most of his arms and brown velour trousers, not unlike the blue ones that had become part of his self-styled uniform before he’d left. He wondered when Rimmer had abandoned the wig; he’d definitely let his hair go in the six months since they’d all been together. Lister estimated it was perhaps an inch, inch and a half longer, just enough so that what stuck straight up reached even more verticality. Bits of dark gingery-brown curls and waves shot in various directions; Lister wondered with no small amusement what the old Rimmer would have had to say about the effectiveness of Ace Rimmer, correlated with lack of a proper military haircut.

And then he was asleep again, because eventually, he woke up. Laying there a moment, he assessed that he was starving, but took another five minutes to actually slither down from the bunk, whereupon he realized why he was hungry: A steaming plate of something was on the table!

Actually, it was two steaming plates, but Rimmer had already started on his, yawning every so often as he chewed. He glanced over as Lister’s feet hit the floor, giving a small nod as greeting, and returned his attention to filling his fork. Lister took the chair to his right, his back to the bunks. As he sat, Rimmer swallowed and jerked a thumb back behind him. “Aren’t you going to wash your hands first?”

“I’m not planning to stick my fingers in it.” He lifted the cover, heartened to find what looked like curried chicken and poppadoms. He made a little noise of triumph and pumped his left fist right before picking up his own fork and going to work.

Time passed much like one of their quiet dinners in the Tank, saying almost nothing except to gesture at the other’s plate once or twice with a full-mouth noise that might mean anything from “does it taste good?” to “found the meaning of the universe yet?” It wasn’t much different than their time together years ago, either, except for Lister’s rather worrying tendency to occasionally want to reach over and use his thumb to rub something sauce-like off of Rimmer’s upper lip; that was _definitely_ new.

They were almost finished when the door buzzer sounded. “Come in,” they muttered just slightly out of unison, mouths full.

Cat was the first to dance in, humming to himself and taking a quick visual inventory of the room, eyes ending on Lister’s nearly-empty plate. “Yep, B.B., it’s curries,” he reported unnecessarily to Kochanski, who stood in the doorway.

Lister swallowed his mouthful. “I haven’t had any in a while!” he protested, draining another sip of Leopard Lager. He wondered how much of this was in storage. “Kryten?” he wondered, pointing at their plates.

She nodded. “I guess so. I didn’t see him, but the smell of chicken woke me up.” She sighed, a faraway look in her eyes. “And cottage cheese. With pineapple.”

“I told you.” Rimmer stabbed his fork into the air, smirking, and continued eating.

“Oh, that’s right.” The Cat paused, as if trying to remember something. “Ice Cube Head said for us all to meet near the lift when you two are done chowing down.”

“He say why?”

“Probably. But I found a crease. Didn’t hear all of it.”

Less than thirty minutes later, the four presented themselves to the mechanoid at the lift, where he had propped open its door and was giving a good cleaning to the interior seats. “Oh, sirs, ma’am, it’s good to see you up and about again. The ship has been so quiet with just Holly for conversation.”

“What’s so bad about that?” Holly appeared on the small lift monitor. “I’m good company, I am. Not everyone with an IQ of six thousand would float around discussing comparisons of household cleaning fluids.”

Kryten shook his head, visibly ignoring it. “We need to do an inventory of basic supplies. Holly and I could complete it ourselves, but it would take approximately four months nonstop just for that. If the four of you were to participate, it would take only approximately two-thirds of that time, and Holly and I could better spend our time taking inventory of non-basic supplies, such as cigarettes and ice cream.”

“Hey, who says those are non-basics?” Lister wanted to know.

“Ah, very good, Mr. Lister, sir. You _do_ wish to volunteer.” He looked to the other three, who glanced around at each other and shrugged, nodding. “Most excellent. I believe you should begin in the morning, with clipboards and pens, and work in teams of two. I have calculated that the maximum work would be achieved by splitting you thus: Mr. Lister and the Cat together, and Mr. Rimmer and Ms. Kochanski working as the other team.”

“Kryten,” Kochanski interrupted, “how do you figure that’s the best use of our capabilities? I mean …” She looked pointedly at Lister and the Cat, then thought better of whatever she was going to say.

“What?” Lister demanded. The Cat, checking out his hand mirror, said nothing. Rimmer smirked.

“Neither of you are what one would exactly call productive, and together, you’re likely to feed each other’s worst goofing-off tendencies,” she answered without hesitation. There was a reason she was an officer.

“Ah, but I believe you and Mr. Rimmer will make up that energy with your parts of the effort,” Kryten pointed out. “You see, in my observations, Mr. Lister and the Cat mostly have a smooth relationship and don’t often clash over differing opinions or worldviews. And you and Mr. Rimmer should work well together, because you are the superior officer and he will respect your authority.” A small sound like a choked laugh interrupted them; they all turned to look at Rimmer, who put his fist over his mouth and cleared his throat. He said nothing, though, and nodded for Kryten to continue. Lister could swear he saw a twinkle, of all things, in Rimmer's eyes. “I cannot put you with Mr. Lister, ma’am, because he would spend the entire time ‘mooning’ over you, and besides, I believe Mr. Rimmer would try to de-fur the Cat within the first two hours. And as for putting Misters Lister and Rimmer together.” The mechanoid approximated a shudder. “Well, _that_ series of arguments doesn’t even bear contemplation.”

“Fine, fine.” Kochanski waved her hands at him. “We’ll try your assignments first. Tomorrow morning, oh-nine-hundred.”


	9. “Someone to Watch Over You”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace Rimmer may have waited too long to go home again, but with some help, he might just get the happy ending none of his predecessors did. Set in and after Series 8

_**Fic: Red Dwarf: Someone to Watch Over You**_  
Title: “Someone to Watch Over You”  
Writers: [](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/profile)[**metalkatt**](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/) and [](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/profile)[**veronica_rich**](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/)  


  


The first three days, Kochanski and Rimmer talked only to decide where to go and how to split up survey duties. Things went smoothly, they were efficient, and did enough work that each ended up rolling into their bunks with something approaching satisfaction at jobs well done those nights.

But then she had to ask: “What is it about me that puts you off, exactly? That I’m a woman and outrank you?”

Rimmer shook his head, tapping his stylus against his mouth as he scrolled through the list they were working. "Hmm? No, not really. I've largely gotten over that."

For some reason, his reaction amused her, rather than offending her; she'd expected either protestations or a diatribe of some sort. "Only largely."

"Even after as long as I've been out there, some kneejerk reactions are still there. Takes me a few minutes, sometimes, to clear my head.”

"All right – that's fair." She leaned up over the side of a crate they'd worked the top off of, to gauge what was inside. "So what is it, then?"

"I spent six-and-a-half years trying to keep that man somewhat level-headed, and to get him to stop mooning over you, which always drove him into depression." He set the data pad down and leaned back against the crate. "I was just thinking I'd finally succeeded when I was called- no, when he kicked me out." A frown, and Rimmer shook his head. "Now, you're here, and though you don't quite have that same pinball smile as the one from our dimension did, it's obvious that he's mooned and depressed himself sober. I don't know if I'll ever be able to undo it, and if and when you finally flat-out reject him, I am not sure where to even begin picking up the pieces this time, if he'd even let me."

She hadn't counted much when he began, so she straightened up and turned to watch him as he continued talking. "I don't understand," she said, shaking her head. "Why do you think babysitting Dave is your job? How is this your business?"

Rimmer tipped his head. "Did he never tell you? Holly brought me back to keep him sane. He needs someone to prod him and anger him to keep him in balance. Upsetting me is what kept him from getting too depressed. It's why I kept needling him in the Tank. He was so maudlin that I couldn't be sure he wouldn't do something pointlessly self-sacrificing and stupid."

"Rimmer ... you can't be turned off on a whim anymore, right? Your existence doesn't depend on satisfying somebody else, or a computer, or anything, as I understand. Isn't your light bee powered by your own ship?"

"My light bee is powered by whatever electrical source I charge it into, or whatever chemical energy it extracts from food I eat." He shrugged. "It's a bit more upgraded than anything the JMC ever had. And, it's not that my existence depends on anyone else; far from it. I just can't bear to see the little goit break _again_. I put too much work into him, and even though I tended towards the yellow side, he always came back for me. I rather owe him."

She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "So, he's your friend ... in a weird, stuff-only-guys-are-like sort of way. You probably do know him better than I do," she conceded. "But I don't get your attitude toward me. He's really not that interested in me. Although, if you knew him that well, you'd be able to tell THAT." She couldn't resist the needle.

Rimmer snorted. "Don't buy a word of that. On the inside of his little pea brain, he's composing songs, crappy poetry, and trying to figure out the best way to Stockholm you into liking him. He is practically addicted to the thought of Kristine Kochanski, and you on his mile-high pedestal. He'll worship your toes for as long as you're around."

"No, really!" she protested. "He's had opportunities. I've given him – well, chances," she admitted with an embarrassed shrug at Rimmer's _See?_ expression of self-satisfaction. "Look, you have any idea how hard it is to be out of your own dimension and not know how to get back?"

Rimmer's reply was serious. "Yes, I do. I spent a very long time until Nona and I figured out how to assign dimensional numerics and then work out the ties between people in those numerics."

"Well – yes, I rather forgot that- The point is, I don't want to stay here forever. We've been trying to work out a way to make the wormhole back to my dimension, but we don't know how. And, yes, I admit I'd wondered if maybe I should just accept that I'm stuck here and make the best of it with Dave. So I gave him chances," she repeated. "But – you know, he never took me up on them."

Rimmer sighed, and he looked away, eyes scanning the heights of the room as if it would provide him with the best words to get him out of it. Traitorous bastard; not even a letter hanging up there, made out of dust motes. "Once I get Nona back in shape, you'll only be stuck here because you want to be. However, what you do about that, and whatever choices you make are _yours_ , and I refuse to interfere in said decision process in any way, shape or form. And as for the rest ... that is very unlike him. I half expected him to have charmed you; he's always wanted family, and he lost the two children he had."

"Yes, I know – he mentioned it once in passing; wouldn’t talk about it." She frowned at the memory of her efforts to get Lister to tell her more. "Maybe it's not as unlike him as you think. You've been gone a while; I just mean maybe he's not as dedicated to the idea of me as you think he is." Something niggled at her; she finally pinned it down. "Or maybe it's just the idea itself he was dedicated to. Besides," she added, shaking her head, "just because a man'd want something doesn't mean I would. I never envisioned having more than one or two kids with anyone. And I already had one.” She sighed. “Which … really, makes all this kind of moot, if he’s told you about _that_.”

Rimmer hadn't considered that. "Hmm," he noised, both eyebrows going up. "Perhaps it is the idea. I suppose you'd have to pin him down and poke him with something until he deigned to explain. As for children – he positively doted over Jim and Bex, before they had to be returned to their home dimension."

"Jim and ..." She trailed off curiously.

Rimmer gave her full details of the incident with the Holly-Hop Drive and the female versions of themselves, and the pregnancy that had followed. “Was a bit difficult for the delivery, but we managed. He was just sore for awhile as he healed up." A faraway smile touched his features. "I positively hounded Cat – no pun – to take care of the twins, as I couldn't even pick them up."

She didn't say anything for a moment. It was obvious the two children had meant something to Rimmer, too, but it wasn't as difficult to imagine him being avuncular as she once might have thought. "If it mattered that much to him, okay – I'll be crude: He would've at least tried to get me pregnant. He didn't." She pushed some hair behind her ear. "I don't think you have anything to worry about with Dave. He's better put-together than you think."

"He always has had a rather annoying streak of optimism. I used to push him with overwhelming gloominess just to see how much being perky he could throw back at me."

"So you're NOT this disgustingly pessimistic, then?"

"Well, I was never as bad as I put on, and much less now." He flashed her an Ace-like grin. "Pessimistic heroes don't get very far. Granted, sometimes it took me a minute to think of something, but I could always think of it."

She rolled her eyes at the word "heroes," but wisely said nothing. "It's touching you're so worried about him." So far as she knew, her Dave and his roommate hadn't exchanged more than a few words a week, always off in different directions while alive. "But maybe you ought to just ask _him_ what he wants. God knows maybe you could tell me, then, since I don't know any better than you."

"I doubt the little zit-brain even knows, himself. He's never been exactly self-examinative. It took me telling him what a git he'd been to one of his old girlfriends for him to understand it." At her puzzled look, he gave her an even briefer outline of the incident with Lise than he'd given about the twins. "After I argued with him, he only then finally clued in to what an idiot he was."

She crossed her arms. "So, what do you have against me, again?"

"You don't belong here, and you're going to smash him into pieces somehow." He paused. "Yes, I know we just discussed this, but that's what niggles at my bee."

"That's it? Nothing more personal than that?" When he shook his head, she pursed her lips. "That's just shortsighted, Rimmer. You just admitted it's not my fault and it's not rational. I'm not looking to be bridge partners or anything; I'm just tired of being treated like I'm a boil on the back end of this team, instead of part of it."

"I never said it was rational, Kris. And, I didn't have this problem in the Tank." He shook his head, hands up. "I don't know why this is what bothers me; it just does. For no definable reason."

She inhaled sharply, doing a passable imitation of his nose flare without intending it. "Can you at least agree to stop riding my arse, then? We're stuck together; we should be able to work together with a minimum of animosity, wouldn't you say?"

He took a breath of his own. "All right, I'll do my best. If I start in and abruptly drop, it means I've recognized myself, and am shutting up." He ran a hand through his hair – _when had it gotten that long again?_ – and exhaled, tossing her a sly smile. "At least I wasn't trying to Ace you. You'd either be delirious on top of a crate, or smacking me with a frying pan."

She scowled at him. "What is it with men and thinking women hit with frying pans?!"

Rimmer pointed to a crate. "We just inventoried some, remember?"

"Yes, and two days ago, we inventoried a crate of that Boing sex-aid stuff, too." She stared at him. "Your point?"

"The point is, if you wanted to attack, you don't necessarily have to scramble for a traditional weapon. You use what's at hand. And, if you remember, we used Boing as a weapon at the basketball game."

"Which is pretty much its only saving characteristic, as far as I'm concerned." She consulted her clipboard. "We're almost done with this quadrant; if we get going, we can be finished, have lunch, and move on to the medical crates this afternoon."

He nodded. "All right. You go down your side, I'll go down mine, and I'll do the collation at the end this time."

They finished their morning in peace, and over lunch, she thought of something he'd said. "What was that crack about 'Acing you?'" She tried to repeat it in his accent, not terribly well. "You know, where you assumed I was Alice Kramden with the pan?"

"Well, you remember the reaction when I first came aboard the _'Bug_ to get you a couple of weeks ago, yes? Three grown men acting like their biggest crush had stepped into the room? Well, one grown man, one grown cat, and one grown mechanoid."

"So they have a James Bond wannabe complex. How does that affect me?"

"There's something about the Ace persona that does that to them, makes them flutter and tweet – and it's not just them. When I act as Ace is expected to, it's like being a piece of walking flypaper. I get people – women and men – sticking to me all the time, wanting me to have sex with them."

She tried not to smile and stuffed her sandwich into her mouth to choke off the laughter.

"You think it's ridiculous, and it is. But I swear to Io, it's true. I don't understand it. Ace is the opposite of everything anyone should want in a parent – lord only knows how many bastards the biological ones have created. It's a scary thought to know that this nose will be inflicted on generations upon generations throughout the multiverse."

She laughed around her food, swallowing. "Classic bad-boy complex. I knew far too many women who thought they could change one. Then there's also the whole biological imperative of wanting to select a candidate to give children the most desirable traits for appearance, behavior, survivability, et cetera."

Rimmer sipped from his thermos before speaking, shifting on the crate to stretch his back. "Tell me how acting like a reckless, arrogant, oversexed git is any sort of desirable behavior."

"Dominant genetic traits." She ticked off on her fingers. "Tall, physically strong, reasonably attractive, brave by all appearances, presumable intelligence."

"Then, why does it work on men, too? It's not like they can _usually_ bear children. You should have seen Lister when the first Ace was here. Talk about a bug to flypaper." He shook his head, and bit into his apple. "If that man had given the word, Lister would have been naked in bed and covered in curry sauce in under a minute."

"Well, my Dave is bisexual." She poked around for the grapes she'd packed as she spoke. "Makes sense he's not the only one."

"Don't tell Lister that. He'll have an existential crisis." He tried very hard not to think about the implications of her remark. Although many of the alternates he'd met in other dimensions had tweaked personalities and slightly different appearances, there was no reason for _his_ Lister to butter his toast any way but up.

"Too late." She smiled. "And yes, he did, but it could've been worse." For the first time, it occurred to her their trip through the ducts hadn't been long before Lister's depression over Rimmer's absence had surfaced. She said nothing more, but popped grapes into her mouth to cover amusement.

"I am so glad I wasn't around to witness that," he laughed. "Oh, I brought you something." He tossed her a small container of cottage cheese, and went back to his box. "He likely would have kicked me out of my own bunk after learning anything like that about another him."

She held her breath and opened the container. Pineapple chunks! Her eyes lighted up. "See, now something like this might've gotten Ace some action out of me," she enthused – then thought about what she'd just said. "I don't mean seriously, of course …"

He waved her off. "It’s a peace offering. I actually do know that I've been treating you like smeg lately, for no rational, discernible reason. And, I'm doing my best to stifle it since it has no basis."

She eyed him dubiously as she worked through her cottage cheese, trying to reconcile this man with the one Dave had described in various incidents on several occasions. "Boy, I guess a century or so makes a difference ..." she murmured, and they finished eating in relative silence. When she finished, she checked her watch and held up her fork in silent thanks to him before packing it away. "We'd better get moving, we want to get more done today."


	10. “Someone to Watch Over You”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace Rimmer may have waited too long to go home again, but with some help, he might just get the happy ending none of his predecessors did. Set in and after Series 8

_**Fic: Red Dwarf: Someone to Watch Over You**_  
Title: “Someone to Watch Over You”  
Writers: [](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/profile)[**metalkatt**](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/) and [](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/profile)[**veronica_rich**](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/)  


The _Dwarf_ was stocked with tons of supplies – literally – but there were notable items that couldn't be replaced with something else. Sure, canned tuna was a fine substitute for chipped beef, and nobody was going to complain that the dog's milk had been mysteriously ejected into space. But the necessities – more potable water, vegetable and fruit seeds, soil, certain grains, chocolate chunk ice cream – were going to run out in just a few scant years. Unless they could replace those goods or find acceptable substitutes of some sort.

For that reason, when the crew found a downed Earth-based ship on a small moon with good atmosphere and decent gravity, and no known threats via scan, Kochanski, Lister, and Rimmer volunteered to take _Starbug_ to the surface and scour it for whatever might be lifted. They suspected it might even be a JMC model, but none would say it more than once for fear of jinxing the find.

Piloting the small craft to a relatively soft landing roughly three-quarters of a mile from where the scans had indicated the crash site, Kochanski set everything in standby mode and powered down the engine. She nodded at the Cat, who was along strictly as the getaway pilot and busying himself with needle, thread, and minor clothing repairs at the moment. "Keep the light on for us," she reminded him, giving him a slap on his shoulder as the three of them suited up with a few small weapons and strapped on the bazookoids. She and Lister also carried small oxygen tanks just in case.

"Anything out there?" Lister wanted to know.

"Nothing it recognizes," Kochanski muttered, hitting the side of the scanner. "That doesn't mean much."

"Well, come on." Lister struck out toward the small rise from where the homing signal had emanated. "It's not getting done with us standing around here."

Rimmer's first, swift instinct was to take point and push the others back, but held his tongue as Lister and Kochanski moved forward. So long working as the savior of the multiverse had given him a routine for these sorts of outings. He sharpened his hearing and never let his gaze stay in one place for too long, constantly keeping his senses open for danger. Only ... there didn't seem to be any. Insects of some sort chirruped their strange song, and birds twittered about whatever it is that birds twitter about in the bleak, grayish-green vegetation. It was neither too quiet, nor too noisy, and he found himself a trifle bored.

Out of habit, Lister looked back over his shoulder every so often. Rimmer had put himself at the back of the line rather than in the protected center as he used to do. He still wasn't used to this updated version of the hologram. He hadn't put up any resistance to the idea of being part of the search party and had, in fact, made suggestions for how they might best arm themselves. He'd dressed in his old blue quasi-military uniform – except this one was made of actual cloth, since he'd somehow persuaded the Cat to give up some of his newly found supplies to a 3-D version of the quilted jacket and velour trousers – but he wasn't quite like the Rimmer who used to wear it around, Lister was forced to admit. This one was more attentive, yet calmer, and seemed more attuned to their surroundings than his own welfare.

More than once, Rimmer paused in his steps to listen for something he thought he'd heard, then shook his head and kept going. In the front, Kochanski kept muttering curses and smacking the Psi-Scan, and every once in awhile she'd stop so abruptly that Lister would walk right into her. "Having problems with the equipment?" Rimmer called up.

"No more than the usual," she answered, shaking her head. "Let's stand here a moment - maybe if we're still it'll get a better ... well, a reading."

"Don't ever remember Kryten having much trouble with it."

She looked back over her shoulder. "You've obviously been gone a while," she dryly noted, turning back to it.

Meanwhile, Lister stepped out of their formation by a few steps and looked out toward a copse not terribly far away. He didn't see anything, per se, but something was tickling the hairs at the back of his neck. Reaching up, he pulled down the infrared goggles, tuning them to detect changes in temperature that might indicate life forms other than what passed for trees on this oddly quiet moon. He couldn't spot anything – but that didn't mean he didn't feel it, still. Pitching his voice quietly, he half-turned so he could address them both. "Either of you get the ... I don’t know, feeling, something's kind off, here?"

"A bit, yes," Rimmer agreed. "And yet not. It's terrifyingly normal save for that occasional rumble." He looked back up at Kochanski. "And pardon me for having been kicked out of my own home."

She kept her eyes on the readout for a few seconds, until she noticed even more dead silence, and glanced up to see the two men practically glaring at one another. _Oh brother_ , she thought. _We don't need this right now._ "You're excused," she said absently, hoping to wave off any further remarks from either of them, at least to one another. The trick was to draw the ire off and leave it in a puddle somewhere where it wouldn't interfere with the mission at hand. "Okay, I think I have something ... let's go ..." She backed a few paces, then turned and slowly began leading again, following the much steadier readings of the scanner.

Lister made sure to flip the goggles up and visibly roll his eyes before turning to follow, still tense from whatever problem lurked just beyond their ability to sense it.

Rimmer scrunched up his nose and gave a mocking head-waggle before following. Ace Rimmer had to forgive everyone and be magnanimous until he was forced to end someone's life. Arnold Rimmer could finally let himself be slightly petty and vindictive every once in awhile, when the situation warranted it. "Do you happen to know _what_ you have on the scanner?"

"All I know is the readings generally match what we found in our scan from the two ships. So – no, not really," Kochanski admitted. "I'm trying to refine it as we go along, though."

Rimmer sighed and sent a glare to the back of Lister's head. "Why did you never try to fix it? You're the mechanically-inclined one."

"Yeah, Rimmer, I'll get right on that with my degree in advanced astro-engineering, why don't I." He kept pace with Kochanski, resisting the urge to retaliate unproductively.

"So says the man who used to claim that all you needed to fix something was a spanner and a can of beer," he huffed, still following.

"I'm pretty sure I never said that; I know I didn't, in fact."

"I clearly remember you saying it when Chen had broken his favorite macromassager, after Louis dumped him."

"I think you must be dredging this up from one of your other Listers," this Lister countered. "Considering the Chen I knew only dated women."

"Maybe it was Selby," he allowed. “One of your drinking buddies that wasn't Petersen. The one who used to sneak about with one of the security officers." He shook his head. "I'll never forget the day I found them in the supply closet."

"What did you do?" Kris couldn't help but ask.

"Reached in to get my floor cleaner, then closed the door. That security guard was three times my breadth in the shoulder; I wasn't about to tangle with him."

She went back to her scanner as she chuckled. Lister tried to concentrate on anything he could see or hear around them, halfway because it needed doing and halfway to avoid the conversation going around him. Kochanski and Rimmer had gotten awfully chummy in the last few weeks, he noted, the small part of his mind wondering just exactly what they were up to on their inventory excursions, even as he realized it couldn't be much since they were ahead of schedule doing the actual work.

"Yes. Well, it's a pity I ended up with window-cleaner, but I wasn't about to go back in there. I swapped it out for V-Shift's cleaner and threw their counts off for weeks."

"Says the man who used to pitch a fit over using the wrong size pipe cleaner because it deviated from the regulation manual," Lister said absently, still looking around. "I always suspected you weren't any more on the up-and-up than anyone else."

"Not my counts that were off." He shrugged, eyes flicking about again as he tried to place that half-heard rumble before shaking his head and moving on.

Finally topping the rise after a briefly exhausting climb, they looked down on a short sloping valley – and there was the ship. From a distance there was a good chance it _was_ JMC simply because its profile bore a striking resemblance to a larger version of one of the _Blue Midgets_. Possible danger forgotten for a moment, Lister's face split in a grin. "YES!" he cheered briefly. "Maybe we'll find something useful after all." With that, he began hurrying down, leaving the other two to scramble after him.

Rimmer shared a glance with Kochanski and they both rolled their eyes before following, skipping from semi-flat spot to semi-flat spot. "Lister, slow down! Anything could be in there. Anything could be out here! Predators always go for the one who breaks away from the pack."

"Rimmer, man, you haven't been the same since that weekend I made you sit and watch all seven 'Scream' movies in a row, have you?"

"If you remember right, I was laughing myself silly during them," Rimmer huffed. "I'm talking about all the times I've had to go back for someone because they wandered off."

Lister barely resisted giving the backwards two-fingered salute; instead, he drew up short several yards away, stopping abruptly – and barely managed to maintain his balance when he felt two bodies collide forcefully with his back. "Smeg, you lot don't have to be right on TOP of me!" he protested, stumbling forward a couple of steps.

"Dave! Just ... shut UP," Kochanski panted, elbowing her way around him, holding her scanner out. "Give me a chance to see if this thing can catch up!"

Rimmer'd landed with his hands on Kochanski's shoulders, and he didn't bother moving them as he adjusted his head to peer at the Psi-Scan. "It's definitely trying to blink."

Lister, next to her, craned his head to look as well, halfway hoping he was blocking Rimmer's view. "The repairs to the damn thing never last long enough to do any good; if you leave it overnight, anything you do to it almost completely reverses itself," he bitched.

"Does it have a self-repair unit?" Rimmer asked.

"This is a Jupiter Mining item," Lister replied, that being all the answer required.

"Oh, good point," Rimmer agreed. "The good old JMC – Jipping Miners out of their Cash since 2166." All three of them nodded in unison, a rare moment of solidarity.

Kochanski sighed. "I'm not getting anything, and this seems to be the best reading we _can_ get. On the plus side, I don't pick up any life forms in there." She shook her head. "I think a couple of us are just going to have to go in, guns out, and do a sweep. There's nothing for it."

Lister reached around to pull his blaster to the front. "Right, then."

"And, who do you suggest should guard the door?" Rimmer demanded with an eyebrow-raise.

Lister turned toward them. "Well, either of you."

Arn rested a fist on his hip. "And what makes you qualified to lead the charge?"

He was puzzled by the question. "I always do?"

Kochanski put her hands up. "Look, I don't know what the hell has been going on with you two the past couple days, but I am officially sick of it. I don't outrank Captain Curlymop here, but since I'm taking point on this one, I'm making the choice. Arnold, you're with me. Dave, I'm trusting you to keep our exit clear just in case. The Psi-Scan is still acting up, and with your feeling of unease, I think you're the best choice for guard." She reached out to smack Rimmer's arm softly. "Let's go."

Rimmer waited until her back was turned and gave Lister a haughty little sneer before setting off, pistol resting within easy reach in his thigh holster as his hands twitched over the bazookoid.

Before Rimmer turned away entirely, Lister flashed him a finger; it wasn't to salute him as being Number One. When they had gone in and the door closed to behind them, he turned and leaned against the fuselage, gritting his teeth and considering his former bunkmate. He didn't understand all these changes – sometimes a flash of the old Rimmer would show through in attitude or some thoughtless gesture, but much of the time, he really WAS Ace: taking point, giving orders, putting himself out front for risk and attention. "Smegger couldn't even stand him just a few years ago," he muttered to himself, not taking Rimmer's length of absence into account.

He looked down from his eye trained on the woods just long enough to dig a stick of gum out of his pocket – not long ago, it would’ve been a cigarette, but he was trying to quit, yet again, and alternated between Juicy Fruit and the very occasional cheroot (which he hadn’t had since right after the last dimension jump, and he was beginning to feel it. _Really_ feel it, down through his nerves). He chewed, eyes never leaving the trees. He never actually saw anything weird (but who was to say what odd was on a world one had spent a grand total of twenty minutes standing upon?), but the crawly feeling of being watched and measured ( _like a skin suit_ ) never subsided. Indeed, it pulsed and pounded and throbbed in his gut along with the itch for nicotine.

To take his mind off the discomfort, he thought of what Kochanski and Rimmer might find inside. _You mean other than each other's g-spots?_ the Low level of his mind supplied, with a filthy chuckle. He frowned at himself, but it wasn't the first time he'd had such thoughts. They got along entirely too well for his comfort level.

But that wasn't the worst part, not really. The worst part was that he wasn't entirely sure which one of them was making him jealous.

Combined with Rimmer's earlier pissiness and Kochanski's bland acceptance of it, with some woodsy paranoia thrown in for spice, Lister jumped at the sound of rhythmic pounding from inside the downed ship. "What on Earth-" he muttered.

Before he could open the door, it was thrown open, and Kochanski tore out, graceful limbs all pumping rapidly for the little hill back toward _Starbug. Wait, where's Ri-_

He didn't get to finish the thought as he peered into the dark of the derelict; something heavy and fast slammed into him, spinning him sideways, and rather than go down, Lister grabbed at whatever he could to stay upright. He stumbled back, legs moving too rapidly to hold him up, especially under the weight of two people. His heel hit a rock or root, or some damn thing, and fairly flew backwards down a little rise, his and Rimmer's weight knocking them both along for several rolling tumbles. At some point, the gum went flying.

"This is no time for you two to be wrestling!" Kochanski insisted, raising her bazookoid to blast several more shots into the dark corridor. "Get the smeg up and move!"

Lister and Rimmer struggled and bucked, both trying to push away from each other and find some purchase. "Listy, come on, let go- OW!" Rimmer didn't mind letting out an unmanly shriek when Lister's knee ground straight into his groin in their efforts to right themselves. "Son of a bastard!" he growled, trying to push himself away. "Get up and run, you stupid, short little gimboid!"

"Yeah, I see YOU moving so fast!" Lister shot back, stung by the implication he wouldn't have enough brains to follow someone with as much sense as Kochanski to safety. He managed to finally get his hands against Rimmer's chest and knock him aside, hearing a splash as he scrambled to his feet in the mud and leaves, just barely keeping from falling again as he stood. He eyed Rimmer struggling to get up in a puddle and seriously thought about either leaving him there – _Let His Aceness battle his way out of there, he's so damn good at it_ – or watching as the hologram tried to get his long legs under him. After about two seconds of a good internal fantasy guffaw at the man's predicament, he widened his stance and leaned forward, hand out. "Get up and RUN, Smeghead!"

Rimmer wasn't too angry to accept the hand-up, and as soon as he was steady, he nodded, expecting Lister to run. He drew his pistol from his thigh holster, glancing about with rapid, sharp movements, making sure nothing was coming after them.

Lister took off a few paces, looked back, rolled his eyes as he doubled back, and took a fistful of Rimmer's jacket. "COME ON!" he barked, yanking him a couple of steps to get Captain Planet going before he let go and aimed himself for the hill.

When they topped the rise, he stopped to scan the area; no sign of Kochanski. He noticed Rimmer making the same visual sweep. "Where the hell'd she go?" he asked, immediately cupping his hands around his mouth and yelling for her. He yelled a couple of times before finally hearing a distant answer.

"TOWARD THE SHIP!" a familiar female voice called. "HEAD THAT WAY!"

"Smart woman," Rimmer muttered, looking around. He fit himself up against Lister's back, scanning his half of the area. "Get moving toward the ship," he insisted, voice low. "I've got the rearguard."

"Well ... damn, wait a minute!" he muttered, getting his blaster twisted around to the front, trying to keep his footing as Rimmer pushed him forward. Once he had it in position, he dug his foot in to slow their progress and hissed over his shoulder, "We should really try to see where she is! We can't just leave, and I'm looking right at the ship – I don't see hide nor hair of a person near it!"

"Use your heat goggles," Rimmer snapped. "I don't have time to change my eyes from their pattern right now."

Lister muttered something unflattering about Rimmer's mother as he reached up to pull them down – and realized they must have come off in the epic mud wrestle. "Shit!" he added, raising his voice to yell, "KRIS! Are you along the way to the ship?" He craned his head sideways to address Rimmer. "We should probably rotate so we're not always facing the same way." To demonstrate, he nudged one elbow against the side of Rimmer's back to push him clockwise as they kept moving toward _Starbug_.

He followed Lister's cue, shuffling about, letting his eyes pick up spectra outside the standard visual. "I can see her... and some things behind her. She's almost to the _'Bug_. She can pull up the hatch and alert the Cat to be ready." As he spun back around to the rear, he began to shift from infrared to ultraviolet, and nearly stopped in his tracks. "We need to move NOW," he urged. "There are ..." He squinted. "Well, I'm not sure what they are, but they're about half as tall as those big conifers, and they're grunting their way through the underbrush in our direction."

The two men moved with no more conversation, picking up the pace as well as they could while still in formation. Lister didn't bother asking if they could just turn and run, since he knew with their backs to ... whatever, they were targets. Better to get closer and then dash like hell.

Something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, and he cocked the bazookoid until he noticed it was Kochanski, darting from behind a large bush toward them. She leaned in hard against their sides. "Nice little formation you got here," she panted, turning to elbow them apart on that side and add a third pair of eyes. "Mind a gatecrasher?"

"Not at all," Rimmer replied, shifting to make room. "You don't bring any spare bazookoid packs, did you?"

"No, I didn't think about it," she admitted.

"You spent all your ammunition?" Lister couldn't believe his ears.

"No, I forgot to check it before we left, and it only had half a charge." Rimmer shook his head as he brought his pistol closer to his chest. "Complete boneheaded mistake."

When they were finally about thirty yards from the _'Bug_ and Lister was facing rearguard, he saw some of the indistinct forms pick up their pace. "Fuck this!" he called back to his compatriots. "Run for the ship!"

They all turned and sprinted, and at the foot of the gangway Rimmer ducked under Lister's arm, dropping to one knee and trying to focus. He raised his pistol as his eyes adjusted, firing off three shots as precisely as he could. He heard the rumble again, a sort of squeal just below the range of even his hearing. He waited, looking over his shoulder, making sure Lister and Kris were up far enough for him to go – but Lister was still on the ground. He couldn't see Kochanski. "Get in the ship, dammit!" Rimmer barked, completely falling into everything he used as Ace. "Go; I'll be right behind you!"

The figures weren't that far away now, having moved fast – _impossibly_ fast. Later, Lister couldn't have explained why he acted as he did; it wasn't until far, far later, in fact, that he understood the panic in his gut, why he'd wanted to bodily yank Rimmer up and toss him up into the ship. "We won't both get up there!" he yelled, gesturing at Kochanski's leg still below ship level. "If- Turn yourself off! I can carry your bee up!"

"No can do, Dave." He sent out another three shots, and was satisfied to see one of the shapes recoil. "I'm faster than you think; now get moving! every moment you waste is another moment I don't have, now GO!"

He looked up; he could barely see Kochanski's face, glancing down at him. "Sorry!" she called. "Something was blocking the inner door! I just got it open!" She began moving again, but he noticed she was struggling, finally pushing herself halfway through the only half-open hatch door.

"She just got the hatch door open!" he yelled at Rimmer. "We won't have much time once she gets in." He stuck his hand out imperiously. "TURN IT OFF!"

Rimmer turned to glare at Lister. "You stupid goit, get the fuck up there!" He stood, bumping Lister with his shoulder to get him moving. "I'm not getting in until you're both safe, so move your smegging feet!" He hung onto one of the hydraulic pistons that controlled the stairs, sent out another three shots, and sent up a thank you to the arms worker who'd extended his magazine.

Staying on the ground as long as he could, torn between wanting to hurry to crawl inside as soon as Kochanski disappeared and the long-established habit of pulling Rimmer's ass out of situations, Lister finally started climbing. Halfway up, he paused to yell down, "MOVE, JACKASS!"

"Shut UP, you idiot!" Three, two, one – spending his last three shots, he began to skitter backwards up the stairs, nearly falling over when he ran into Lister's back. "Get IN there!" he hissed, reaching out to grab the side of the rail and push back hard. "Move it before that thing gets back up!"

Kochanski was long gone; Lister wavered before heading for the cockpit, wondering if she'd made it there already, since it should've been her obvious destination. Just as he moved to run for the steps up to the drive area, he felt the ship shudder, engines whining, and begin to lift.

Rimmer was glad to get into the safety of the ship, though he was furious at the other man’s stubbornness. "Lister, when I say move, I mean to smegging move. I don't mean 'ignore what I say and do whatever you want.'"

Halfway up the steps, he whirled on the hologram. "Oh, now _you're_ in charge? That's rich, considering how many times I had to shove my head under the guillotine to cover your arse."

"Lister," he snarled, leaning forward on the rails, "I am Ace fucking Rimmer. This is the sort of smeg I deal with every single goddamned day. Don't think you know better than me when it comes to this." He was covered in mud and sweat and filth, but he didn't notice any of it as he directed a fierce green glare upward. "I have a hundred years of experience up on you."

"That I made sure you went out and got!"

"That you kicked me out and _forced_ me to get, you mean." He huffed. "Get your arse up to the cockpit now so we can all do our jobs."

"Oh, here we go. Still the victim." He snorted laughter that wasn't at all merry as he turned and hurried up the steps. He would've slowed down just to further anger Rimmer, but some of his clearer head was beginning to inform him they should, in fact, be helping the Cat and Kochanski.

Rimmer took up Kryten's station with relative ease, though the layout was a bit unfamiliar. "I am not a smegging victim," he snarled. "Victims don't do what I do, and you'd do well to pound that through your thick Liverpudlian head." His hands worked over the controls, eyes scanning and looking over the results, intent on making sure they would be able to get off the ground safely.

Lister was about to lash out with something far more rude when he was cut off by Kochanski. "Whatever you two have, save it!" she barked. "There isn't time; we're not out of gravity yet, and we don't know what those things are capable of!"

"I can smell them," Cat put in. "But, it's receding fast. I don't think they can reach us." He tugged and twisted the yoke, bringing the _'Bug_ under his familiar smooth control.

"Gods, don't say that," Lister muttered. "In the movies, those are always the famous last words."


	11. “Someone to Watch Over You”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace Rimmer may have waited too long to go home again, but with some help, he might just get the happy ending none of his predecessors did. Set in and after Series 8

_**Fic: Red Dwarf: Someone to Watch Over You**_  
Title: “Someone to Watch Over You”  
Writers: [](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/profile)[**metalkatt**](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/) and [](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/profile)[**veronica_rich**](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/)  


  


Rimmer looked down at himself, feeling the muddy clothes and the sticky gunk in his hair, and decided that Kris and the Cat had the right idea. He began walking toward his quarters, intending to shower as well. "Hey! Where d'you think you're going?" Lister stomped behind him, his shorter legs moving faster to catch up with Rimmer's longer strides.

"To take a shower," he replied, not slowing his pace. "I'm covered in filth."

"You're such a selfish bastard. Just go soft-light and let it all drop off, an' leave the water for us,” Lister snapped.

Rimmer clenched his jaw, fingers flexing as he picked up his pace. "I'm just as valid as you are. A good deal older, too."

"Rimmer, you're a hologram, and there’s not a whole hell of a lot of water left,” he snorted, irrationally angry.

"Stop acting like this," Rimmer gritted through clenched teeth.

"What, you're so much more mature and better than me, is that it?" Lister dogged his steps, persistent as ever, his tangent going so far wide of his previous complaint it could’ve been in another galaxy. "Just because you spent time fucking your way through dimensions? Who the hell do you think you are, trying to take over everything?”

Rimmer looked rightly confused. "I am who I've always been, Lister: Arnold Rimmer."

Lister laughed heartily; it was thick enough to support multiple concrete blocks tossed on top of it. "Cut the bullshit," he said, shaking off his jacket and tossing it at the table as they entered their quarters. "I know Rimmer; he wouldn't have done any of that down there that I just saw. ACE," he hissed.

"Don't start this again, damn it." Rimmer busied himself pulling clean clothes out of his locker before starting to remove his filthy ones. "Do you really expect me not to use what I know?"

"Well, you always wanted to show off before," he allowed, pulling off his gloves, "and you didn't have anything to show off." He paused; icily, he added, "Or anyone to show off _for_."

Down to his undershirt and boxers, Rimmer turned, placing one fist on his hip. "I still don't. Why would I have to show off to anyone? Is there something so inherently evil about wanting to keep my crewmates safe?"

"Especially the pretty one, eh?" Lister couldn't even look at him, he was so furious. The worst part was, he couldn't even say why he was so angry, but the tumult of emotions were there.

"Pretty one?" Rimmer was confused. "You mean Kochanski? She's part of the crew, Lister; it doesn't matter if she's the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Gods, I'd think you'd be _pleased_ that I finally learned why it's important to go back for people!"

"Really? REALLY?" He spun on Rimmer, closing the distance to the table. "And then what? Lord it over them? Keep them in the dark? Sit back LAUGHING at them for running through a maze for some freedom?"

"Laughing? Maze? Lister, you're making about as much sense as a reformed tax manual." He put both his hands flat on the table. "I do not know what you're talking about."

"Well, Squire, let me spell it out for you, then." Lister leaned forward on the table, too, about two inches from the gimboid's nose. "E-I-G-H-T S-M-E-G-G-I-N-G FUCKING MONTHS IN GODDAMN PRISON!"

"You think that was _my_ fault?” Rimmer's mouth hung open, incredulous. "That was Holly's idea. Yes, I made a bargain with him for your lives, but what he did, he did to make me work that off, not you!"

Lister pulled back enough to stand on his feet instead of leaning on his hands, and threw them out to either side. "Ohhhh, well, then! I guess I wasn't really there! I didn't really have to kill Cassandra, or nearly get eaten by a carnivorous tree, or almost snuffed out by any other number of subterranean dangers, or watch you and Kris bleedin' crawl all over each other." He kept his tone down, but his frustration was boiling. "I certainly didn't have to answer your inane questions ABOUT YOUR OWN DAMN SELF while you pretended you were clueless New Rimmer, is that it? I didn't have to sit and worry all that time that I'd done the wrong thing by forcing you to leave!"

"Since when have you ever worried about that? You pushed me away all the time. On the psi-moon, you told me you loved me, and then turned around and said it was a joke. You kept wanting to switch me off in favor of someone you felt was better. You never even gave me the chance to decide for myself if I wanted to leave! Jesus Christ, Lister, do you know how many times I wanted to come home? Wanted to forget all that Ace nonsense and be back where I belonged? Do you know how much it hurt to know I would no longer be welcome?"

"You? Hurt?" Lister shook his head. "You're the one who did a runner into an escape pod and left the rest of us to be simulant snacks, as I recall. Then smirked about it, after!" He shoved his forefinger into the man's face, leaning forward again. "And after all the times we stuck around for you! You ingrate!"

"I. Was. A different person. Then," Rimmer hissed, slapping at the finger. "You're not the same person you were when we were on the _Dwarf_ , either. We all grow, you idiot. We learn. We change. That's what being human _is._ "

"DON'T GIVE ME FUCKING LESSONS ON MORALITY!" Lister exploded. Unthinking, he swung his fist, knuckles connecting with Rimmer's cheek, immediately below his left eye. It sent the hologram reeling. "I damn well know what it is to sacrifice and go without for someone else!"

Rimmer stumbled back a few paces, stars exploding behind his eyes. He blinked and shook his head. "You stupid smegging son of a bastard's bastard's bastard – I say THAT because I'm not going to insult Kris. Yes, fine, you're better than me. You got yourself caught having a pet. You went to stasis. You married a GELF. You've done all the things I never did." He raised his hand and pointed two fingers at Lister with a short shake of his arm. "But you listen to me, you little shit, I spent nearly every day out there wondering if you were all right, wondering if the others were keeping you sane as I'd been brought back to do. I hoped and prayed that nobody would ever figure out that you were my weak spot, and to get me to cave in and hand over the goddamned universe, all they'd have to do is threaten you. You wanted me to become a better person; I worked my _arse_ off to become that person. Everything you're hating here is your own smegging fault!"

"YOU DUMB ARSE, I ONLY DID-!" He caught himself, then, heard himself yelling, absolutely _screaming_ at the other man, in a way he never had before in all the years they'd been thrown together and gotten on each other's nerves day after day. Clenching his teeth, he pressed the heels of his hands to his face, just below his eyes, as he willed his heart to quit pounding around like Seabiscuit, and the blood in his head to stop moving for two minutes. "I. Did it. For. Your own good," he gritted out, eyes closed. It was too early to try to think on everything Rimmer had verbally thrown at him. "Smeg it all!"

"For my own good? You're not my goddamned father, Lister. Holly brought me back to keep _you_ sane, but what the disembodied bastard never mentioned that he chose _me_ because I needed you." What was intended to be a mad grin came out instead as a snarl. “Guess what? I didn't have you around for over a century. You think maybe I'm a little unstable?"

With a groan, Lister dropped forward from the waist, hands on his head, to smack his forearms on the table as he leaned into them. "Smeg, smeg, SMEGGING hell," he muttered, feeling like a cross between shit and shit later that same week. He began to have an inkling, just a trickle of thought, as to why he'd been so frigging angry, and he wasn't sure if he approved of it or not.

"So go ahead. Hit me. Hate me. Accuse me of putting the moves on Kochanski. I no longer care." He spread his arms out. "I don't care about the _Dwarf_ , I don't care about the crew, and I don't smegging care about you."

When he lifted his head, he saw Rimmer's back going out the door. "Rimmer! Rimmer, man, wait!" he called, starting after him. He hurried out into the corridor and called again, answered only with a backward, silent "up yours" gesture as the tall figure aggressively stormed off.

Lister slumped against the doorway, shaking his head. "What th’ hell was _that_ all about?"

*****

Rimmer caught the approach of the other man out of the corner of his eye, but kept his gaze firmly trained on the engine part he was repairing. Even with his hair shorter, he kept wanting to toss it out of his face to give himself something to do. He'd also perfected it into a gesture where he could look around and take in the surroundings without making it apparent that he was doing anything but being flash. "Skipper, hand me that screwdriver, would you?" he said neutrally.

"Why are you calling me that?" Lister asked, and Rimmer felt the slap of the screwdriver into his outstretched hand, without looking. "That's not my name, and you know it."

"It's what Ace calls you," he replied, tightening a screw and washer down over a coil of wire. "I am Ace. You made damn sure of that. So, don't go bitching about what he calls you, all right? Soldering gun."

"When did you learn all this stuff? When you went off, you were still ... you." Lister gestured airily at the mess of metal and wire around them, before locating the tool he wanted. "I mean, you said it took you four terms in school to make a tent peg."

"There was no one else to do it. I had to learn. Had plenty of time, plenty of patient instruction." He welded another joining closed, then blew on the metal to cool it before holding it back a bit to inspect it. "Now I can rewire engines as easily as I can paint a portrait." He set the circuit board aside and picked up another housing. "Whatever it is you're wanting to ask me, just get on with it. I know how you get when you're like this. You ramble on and on about the stupidest smeggy things instead of cutting down to the point. Out with it."

There was a pause, and Rimmer kept his fingers busy, rebraiding delicate strands of cable, waiting for the words. "Why did you come back? What made you come back on _Red Dwarf,_ made you come after us with the _Wildfire_?"

"That's what heroes do, Lister. Sometimes, they're a little late, but eventually, they're able to get where they need to be to get people's arses out of the fire. They save the day, take in the accolades, and then slip off like an adulterer in the night, leaving only a sweet memory and a good story." A little clip secured the ends, and he taped them tight before settling the endcap and crimping it. "Heroes aren't meant to be real people. They don't hang around and do laundry on Thursday nights, they don't tell you to pick your socks up off the floor, and they don't show weakness."

"So, when you're done getting us all set up, then, you're going to scarper? Run away like you always have?" Rimmer heard Lister's snort of derision. "No matter how long you spent out there screwin' the multiverse, you haven't changed a bit. Still a smegging coward."

This time, Rimmer looked at him and pursed his lips in mock pondering. "So, the man who kicked me off _Starbug_ to become the next version of the hero under whom he would have _gladly_ played Twister is accusing me of being a coward because I'm doing exactly what he wanted me to do ..." He took in a breath, nostrils flaring comfortably as he expelled it again. "No, sorry, I'm just not following your logic."

Lister growled, but knew he had only himself to blame for this row. "I'm sorry for what I said. About morality, or trying to make you turn yourself into another state, or even the nasty things I was thinking about your mother while I was saying it."

Rimmer snorted. "As if you could say anything worse about her than I have a hundred times over."

"It was really rotten of me to bring up that stuff," he continued. "Dirty pool, yeah, okay."

"Apology accepted." He brushed off the words and picked up another piece of the communications array to peer at it. They'd fought, it was over; he needed to focus on his ship so he could get to somewhere he wouldn't be hated ... maybe.

Lister watched him work, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other; he hadn't often been in the position of feeling he should be seeking forgiveness where Rimmer was concerned. He stayed quiet while Rimmer concentrated on something, and when he judged he was finished, he added, "And that last bit – I know you were mad. I'd have been mad, too, those things were said to me." He hesitated. "I mean, you don't really have that much apathy toward us, though, do you?" he asked, testing.

Rimmer was silent for a moment as he fiddled with the wires. He wanted to lie; he wanted badly to lie. But damn it all, he also didn't want to. "I'd still go back for any of you, Lister. That's what heroes do, no matter how great or small."

Irritated, Lister blew out a great hunk of air. "You're not Ace, man; you're not him. Well, not here." He looked down, halfway embarrassed. "Same way you'd go back for anyone, then? A woman? A kid? Refugees?"

"No, if you had twenty ships facing you down, like I did on my very last run, I wouldn't take a half an hour to destroy them all. They wouldn't last ten minutes." He didn't look up, the lack of any response telling him that Lister had either missed or chosen to ignore the backhanded compliment. "And then I'd leave you to your life, your dream of Fiji, and the woman you're too scared to pursue, while I headed out." He frowned at the repair. "I might go mad, but I'd be taking everyone else on the wrong side of the law along with me." He gave Lister a very Ace grin, then went back to his fiddling.

When Lister finally spoke, it was to set him straight only the only thing he could speak about any ready authority. "I'm not scared. I'm just not blind and stupid anymore, is all. Well – at least not on that."

"Lister, I've no idea what you're dribbling about."

It was such a Rimmer thing to come out of the guy's mouth that Lister took it cautiously as a good sign. "Kris – she's got her own dimension, somewhere. We just don't know how to get her back there. She's been with us longer than she wanted."

"I could have Nona scan her and find out her dimensional signature. Though, we'll have to wait until she comes out of her cottage-cheese coma." The Lister he'd known would gladly pull out his own eyeteeth before letting a Kochanski get away from him, and Rimmer decided to leave the hard choice to him, shirking this small mote of responsibility himself. Surprisingly, it felt quite nice.

"I think all you really have to do is ask." Lister carefully did not ask if this was something she and Rimmer had discussed on their inventory runs. "Or rather, all I have to do. If I wanted to know. Which – maybe I don't." He shrugged. "Maybe I'm the smegging coward on this one."

"I'll leave it up to you, Lister. She's your dream girl. Currently, my dream girl can't even talk to me, with her voicebox sitting in pieces all around me." He gestured to the mechanical map about him.

For the first time, Lister noticed bits and pieces of parts spread around the FTL, each laid in a particular spot on old cloth. "What precisely are you trying to do to the poor thing?"

"She took a few hits to her comm array when we zipped through those asteroids. I'm trying to fix it so she sounds like herself again."

"She sounded all right when we landed ..." Lister trailed off, trying to remember if the sleek ship's computer had even talked at that point. "Do you know how to DO that?"

Rimmer rolled his eyes at him. "If I didn't, I wouldn't be doing it. And, she's gotten progressively worse since we've landed. Inventory was more important than her voicebox; she's been resting happily and dreaming whatever it is computers dream about. But, we're nearly done with it, and since we know we have supplies to last us roughly thirty thousand years, less if you end up having children with Kris, it's not so critical we do said inventory every waking hour."

He pointedly ignored the reference to Kochanski; he'd as good as admitted he knew he didn't have a goit’s chance with her, so he figured Rimmer was just being contrary. Which, to be honest, was sort of a comfort. "Have you checked the housing around the voice array, see if there's any char marks?"

Rimmer put the part down and stood, twisting around to get inside and check. The motion pulled the hem of his white t-shirt out of the black trousers he was wearing, causing it to ride up. Lister could see a small white line running along the skin at the small of his back, a scar obviously from youth; he wondered at the story behind it. "No, I'm not seeing any," came the muffled reply as Rimmer pulled himself out and resumed his position. "No char marks."

He watched Rimmer scratch at his forehead and leave a long black streak along the side of his nose when he pulled his hand away, apparently unaware of it. "That's funny; you'd think the section housing that would've been affected, if there was anything permanently wrong," Lister pointed out.

"Sort of why I'm thinking it's the wiring – something must've gotten knocked loose.”

"Either that, or it's-" Reaching into one of his pockets, Lister drew out a mostly-clean rag and took a couple of steps closer. "Stay put," he muttered, getting a couple of fingers under Rimmer's chin, and reaching up to swipe at the black streak, then rub gently until it was mostly gone. "Know how allergic you are to dirt," he smirked, stepping back, showing Rimmer the smudged cloth.

A shrug pushed those shoulders up against the thin fabric of the shirt. "Another thing you get used to, crawling around engines. Makes me glad I don't have to drink water, I can save it all for showers."

"I know. Used to work on all sorts of machines myself, back when I was a kid." He glanced at _Wildfire_ and slapped a palm to her exterior, patting it. "Never got into anything as complex as this, though."

"In some universes you do. Lot of them, actually. Whenever I run into another you, he's usually tinkering on something or other, trying to make it go faster or work better."

"Oh, yeah? How many of me have you run into?"

Rimmer paused in his work and sighed, thinking it over. "Few dozen. It's bound to happen at least once, and being out there long as I have, it happens more than a few times."

Lister cocked his head, glad to just be able to stand and have a conversation – or argument, as was usually the case – with Rimmer again. "Am I stuck on any rust buckets out in the middle of space in any of those dimensions, too?" he asked. Then he leaned forward a bit, balancing on the balls of his feet. "Ever had to come to my rescue, Ace?"

"Once. The GELFs had caught up with you, and were about to make you into kebab for running off on the missus." Rimmer let the hand holding the ratchet drop, looking up a bit as he remembered. "I went in and bargained for your life. Had Kryters in tow to do the translation. Had to do that one in three steps; was a bit of a tricky one. I was eventually able to get them information on how to defeat a rival clan – they held you prisoner until they succeeded, but they treated you quite well, considering – and the prize I claimed was your freedom." He huffed a soft laugh, mouth curving. "I remember that Cat bitching constantly about having to go all over the sector with me – not because he was bored, mind, but because I wouldn't let him ransack my wardrobe." He looked down at his hands, turning the tool over between his fingers. "Didn't do it completely on my own; the others did a fair bit of helping. It's not something I could have done as a one-man job. I needed their assistance."

"Well ..." Lister trailed off. "Ace Rimmer, Hero Extraordinaire, needing help? Fancy that."

Rimmer shook his head. "Overconfidence is what leads people to get hurt, Listy. I learned that lesson fairly early on. I'm not ashamed to ask for help when I need it; usually adds to the legend anyway, that whoever so-and-so got to be part of the grand adventure, even in some small way."

Lister shook his head, chuckling. "I remember a time you did duck out on your mates, man. Lot's changed, apparently."

He dipped his head with a shrug. "Yes, well; a good part of that was done when I rotted away in that cell for six hundred years. I was constantly faced with all the worst parts of myself ... I was the only one who could do anything about changing them."

"I know."

Rimmer tossed Lister a confused sideways glance. "Know what?"

"That you were the only one who could help yourself. Wasn't going to happen havin' to put up with us all the time, was it? You needed a bigger sandbox, and the multiverse needed an Ace who had just enough smeghead in him to maybe keep him alive longer than any of the others."

"I do certainly seem to be the record-holder. Twenty-three years is the next runner-up in time, and that was five Aces ago."

"So, how long were you at it, then?"


	12. “Someone to Watch Over You”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace Rimmer may have waited too long to go home again, but with some help, he might just get the happy ending none of his predecessors did. Set in and after Series 8

_**Fic: Red Dwarf: Someone to Watch Over You**_  
Title: “Someone to Watch Over You”  
Writers: [](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/profile)[**metalkatt**](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/) and [](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/profile)[**veronica_rich**](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/)  


"I do certainly seem to be the record-holder. Twenty-three years is the next runner-up in time, and that was five Aces ago."

"So, how long were you at it, then?"

"I've been at it a hundred and twenty years or so." Rimmer smirked at Lister’s expression of open shock. "Time flies when you're learning. I'm probably starting to go a little barmy, having no home base, no place to rest. But, that's the hazard of the job."

Lister let out a low whistle. "That's a really long time, Arn. But it's only been a few years for us – did you figure out how to time-jump, too, I suppose?"

"I never really got the hang of all the details in the physics, but dimension-hopping messes up one's own time, even though time passes in a linear way in my own home dimension. So, it's sort of a ‘yes and no’ situation. I let the computer handle all that; I let her know where we need to go, if we need to go somewhere specific, and she does the rest. Or, if we don't have to be anywhere, I let her choose. It keeps her happy."

"So you don't choose where you go, then? You let the ship run things?"

"Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. We usually take it in turns. Like every other woman in the universe, one of the most important things for her is the ability to choose. So, she usually finds somewhere interesting, if I'm not being anal about being sequential in dimension-mapping." He let out a laugh. "I do love my order, but I've learned that the cosmos seem to favor chaos just a little bit."

"That's what I always tried to tell you, man. Being formally uneducated doesn't make me stupid." He gauged Rimmer's reaction, offering a cheeky smile.

"No, but it did does hinder your chances of being effective," Rimmer mused practically. "You've a touch with machines? Many of the other Listers I've met went to engineering school, mechanical school, other sorts of educational institutions that took what was naturally there and honed it to an edge so sharp, you'd be able to cut diamonds with it."

"Yeah, but none of them's me." Lister shrugged. "I have to believe I'm me for a reason." He noticed something in the open engine flap and leaned closer to inspect it.

"Everyone is everyone for a reason. We're all the products of the choices we've made. We're only just ever aware of one of a set of a million choices we make every day." He noticed Lister's scrutiny of his ship. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I don't think – is that the jump drive, there?" He pointed and Rimmer leaned closer, so their heads were almost touching. "Just doesn't look like anything I've seen in an engine before."

"Yes, it's a dimensional transference unit ... I think. DTU means something or other like that. It basically rips a hole between dimensions, tells the engines to kick me through, then sews it back up again.”

"That's amazin', Rimmer," he muttered, reaching in to run a finger along the casing. "And you have to fix this thing all the time?"

He nodded. "You won't believe how long it took me to learn." He remembered sitting in the cockpit, twisting and turning the holographic simulation of the engine over in his hands as the _Wildfire's_ computer repeatedly explained, in endlessly patient tones, how it worked and went together. "But, the first time it went on the fritz, there was no other way to do it but just keep poking at things and figure out what did what."

"Know that feeling. 'S how I learned to do engines, too."

"Yes, I remember you endlessly puttering about with that space bike of yours before Kryten crashed it." _Polishing it with that rag, lucky little shit had at least been able to touch something, interfering with my language lessons._ "Probably consider that your training toy."

"I had a lot of toys before that." Lister pulled his head out and gave Rimmer a sideways look, expression a little sly. "Always had to have me hands on something 'til it started up proper."

"Oh, and you couldn't have bothered to fix my light bee before? Thank you so much, Lister; I didn't know you cared." The joke was obvious in Rimmer’s tone.

"There's a difference between large hot metal parts and tiny, cool, delicate components." Lister gestured as though he were holding a screwdriver over an invisible engine part. "Have to know where to adjust the right part, not pry or push too hard with the wrong tool."

"I simply figured you were trying to get rid of me every so often – especially after that disgusting trip through your digestive tract."

"Oh, I don't know about 'getting rid of,'" Lister mused noncommittally, switching to a previous topic. "So, are you saying 'can't' is no longer in your vocabulary, then? You don’t just give up like you used to?

"The last thing people want to hear is 'can't.' It's an ugly word, and sometimes, it just takes clear thought and circumspection to defeat it."

"But y’know, sometimes, you just need to leg it out of Dodge as fast as feet and whatever else will take you," Lister pointed out. "You taught me that. Live to fight another day?" He grinned, lopsided, at Rimmer. "Well, or at least to flee another day, too."

Rimmer sighed, then looked at his hand to check for grease before pressing the heel of it into one eye. "I can't say I never need help; I do a lot of the time. Nobody can do everything alone. But – look, the next time someone's shooting at us, would you mind letting the one off whom bullets bounce take the rearguard, while the ones who can be torn and bleeding and infected get to safety first?"

"I never saw any 'bouncing,'" Lister pointed out. "I didn't see you going down, but I _did_ see a few going in you.”

"They sort of make a dent, and are expelled on their own or when I flip to soft-light. I've been upgraded so many times, it'd take a railgun to get through. Thankfully, I've not run into many people who had them."

"Yeah, and how did the last Ace die again?" Direct score below the belt.

"He shifted to soft-light at the wrong time," Rimmer replied softly. "I saw it in his memories."

"And that's not going to happen to you." For all his voice went down at the end, it was a question.

"Not if I can help it."

"Well, I was trying to help, too," he insisted, "you know."

Rimmer nodded, looking away when Lister's glance felt too penetrating. "I know. And if I'd still been who I was, I'm sure I would have jumped at the chance. But, I'm not him anymore; he's not me. Bits of him burned away over the years, leaving me whoever it is I am."

The admission cost him something, Lister was sure. "You're right," he finally reciprocated, "it was thoughtless to just demand you shut yourself down like that."

"No, it was thoughtful," Rimmer corrected. "It's that sort of quick thinking that saved us all more than once. It just isn't appropriate to the situation anymore."

"But surely," Lister turned right around and insisted, unable to give up a good strategy, "I mean surely, it would be just the thing to pull out of our arses at some other point; some other situation, you have to agree."

"It might be." Rimmer ran a hand through his hair, remembering the longer curls that were no longer there. "But, I'm still too much a coward to do it. One bolt with a sniper rifle with the right ammo directly on the bee, and that would kill it, without the protection of my hard-light body."

Lister shook his head. "Nah, man, that's self-preservation."

"What's the difference?"

"If you really can't see it, you've swung too far in the other direction." That's what had nagged at him earlier, when he'd demanded Rimmer shut himself down to be more portable: The man had practically taken over all three of them, shoving them ahead and not paying attention to his own safety. Memories of having to hook up and test the previous Ace when his light bee was failing overlapped. "Doing a runner isn't always bad. Besides," he added, "if I were going to shut you off, I'm not going to just go waving your bee around as a target, am I? That's going in a relatively safe place for transport."

One corner of Rimmer's mouth twinged in a smile. "Thank you," he replied softly. "You always end up rescuing me from myself, don't you?"

"Yeah, whatever," Lister demurred, shaking his head. "I've only lived like, less than a third of the time you've been Ace Rimmer, Space Adventurer." He grinned. "Or is that Captain Rimmer? Big Man?"

He shook his head. "Just Rimmer. Arnold Rimmer – no relation to Bond."

*****

"Why yes, Dave, I can do THAT."

Rimmer slowed as he heard that from the hatchway, the throaty feminine voice floating through the length of his ship, ended by a soft giggle. He stepped up inside and ducked through the neck corridor toward the cockpit, where Lister was seated, the seat swiveled sideways. "Great,” he interrupted. “Now the chirpy little goit is after my computer, too. What's next, my suits?"

The ship continued to coo, and Lister patted the control dash. "Sure, you can, doll. You're a good girl, aren't you?" He paused, eyes crinkling in amusement. "Or maybe a very _bad_ girl?" He was rewarded with another giggle.

"Oh my god …” Rimmer knelt to be more comfortable, a few feet away, and rolled his eyes. They landed on the sandwich on the dash, atop a barely large-enough square of wax paper, and tilting dangerously toward the dip in the dash’s center console. “LIST-” He flailed incoherently, pointing at it. “I- what- NO!” He shook his head once he had Lister’s attention. “I’m not going to have you stinking up my cockpit with that … that mess you call food. Pick it up and get it out!”

Lister did pick it up with his left hand – with his right, he saluted cheerily with a lazy quarter-Rimmer. "Full Nostril Flare Alert, Sir!"

"Look, just because you've got a chutney-curry … smelly socks taste buds fetish, don't take it out on my ship! She doesn't deserve your smeggy food, any more than your stupid come-ons. She's better than that,” he huffed.

Grinning around a big bite of the sandwich, Lister chewed, for a change not dropping any from the food or his mouth. Turning it to a clean corner, he offered it toward the other man. Rimmer’s first instinct, of course, was to refuse – to recoil in culinary horror and protest – but he remembered a similar sandwich from so long ago, and something compelled him to lean forward and pinch off a big bite, glaring defiantly at Lister as he stuffed it in his mouth. Swallowing, he resisted simultaneous urges to gag and bite off more of the crazy thing, at once both revolting and quite tasty. “Still tastes like I’m having a baby,” he muttered around the crumbs in his mouth, screwing up his face, before swallowing again. “So, there. You’ve shared. Now, get it out of my cockpit before I have to smell it on the upholstery."

"I used a clean knife and everything, just so y'know." Lister ignored the order, taking another bite.

"Will wonders never cease? Kryten's taught you the value of washing up."

"I think it was around about when I ran out of socks that'd bend or stretch. He went on a strike, the goit. Said they were too smeggy even for his fantasies."

"Who can blame him? Your socks have been known to set off biohazard alarms!”

"Not since we lost the curries that time. Haven't had as much." He leaned closer and blew toward the hologram's face. "See? Me breath's better now."

Rimmer closed his eyes, wrinkled his nose and pulled back even further. "Still on those damnable cigarettes, and not too fond of toothpaste, though, I can tell."

"Eh, they’re clean, Cavern Nose." He reached up and scraped at a couple of his teeth with a mostly-clean fingernail, then sucked at it with his tongue and pursed lips. "Not bad for not having any dentist around but Kryters for all these years,” he spoke around the fingertip.

"You let that moronic metalhead go poking in your mouth with sharp things?" Rimmer shuddered. "You're insane."

"I can't see in there myself! My eyes don't come out of my head." He took another bite, thoughtfully, chewing, deciding to elaborate before strictly finishing his mastication. "Unless it's bath night and Kris has to duck out into the corridor for a towel, or something." He grinned. “We’d all pretty much pop our eyes out at that. Major entertainment prospects.”

"You perverted gimboid." He folded his arms disapprovingly. "Haven't you learned anything about respect during the time we were in the Tank?"

"Oh, don't give me that, Mr. Didn't-Close-His-Mouth-For-Three-Hours," Lister pointed out.

“Lister, I was acting. The person I’d been all those decades ago would’ve done that; I had to, to keep up the act. It was hard enough trying to keep cover without giving myself away.”

Lister eyed him, unconvinced. "Or maybe you just had too much 'coffee' still in your system?" He'd picked up the valuable tidbit about Rimmer’s in-and-out with a couple of female officers during the captain’s dinner, through intership gossip. “Tell me, do you like yours full, or decaf?”

Rimmer felt his face heat at the memory, and he looked away. "Oh, shut up, zit-brain. I had to do something to make sure I was suspected, so I'd get tossed in prison with you guys."

"Yeah, man, whatever. Like the Cat hasn't tried to do worse with the dispensing machines."

"Funny, I figured he would have been too focused on the mirrors." Rimmer tried to change the subject.

Lister finished his sandwich, rather proud of himself for not having dropped any, and licked his fingers. "Don't have as many here as on the old _Dwarf_ , it seems. Easier to keep track of him. Anyway, I think I know what your lady's problem is. Loose-wrapped fuel line. Can replace it in just a few minutes, we'll see if that makes her purr any better."

Rimmer's eyebrows knitted together in disbelief. "How do you figure? I've been over her fuel system four times in the past week."

He pursed his lips, thinking diplomatically. "It's not a big crack, man. Back when I was working as a mechanic, I dealt with loads of 'em on cycles and such – I only know to look for it 'cause there wasn't anything else wrong with her." He shrugged. "Little buggers that hide'll get you every time. Worst thing about machinery."

Rimmer huffed in disgust. "Just fix it. And show me what to look for the next time she does this."

Lister rolled his eyes and swiveled back around to punch something into the controls. "You’re welcome, smeghead."


	13. “Someone to Watch Over You”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace Rimmer may have waited too long to go home again, but with some help, he might just get the happy ending none of his predecessors did. Set in and after Series 8

_**Fic: Red Dwarf: Someone to Watch Over You**_  
Title: “Someone to Watch Over You”  
Writers: [](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/profile)[**metalkatt**](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/) and [](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/profile)[**veronica_rich**](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/)  


Once again, deep space was quiet and boring, and being tired of cards and "Identify the Crewman By His Pointy Finger Through a Sheet," Kochanski decided to ransack the crew quarters.

Well, not ransack, entirely – just search for useful items in individual rooms that might have lasted three million years. They'd already categorized necessities such as food and medicine, and while these things needed finer-toothed sorting, she didn't want to head downdecks to do it. That place was still too depressing after having spent weeks in it already. When she announced her intentions, Rimmer volunteered to come along; since she didn't care one way or the other, she hadn't objected.

Rimmer worked his way through the room, feeling partly a sense of guilt for being so bold as to paw through someone else's stuff, and partly enthralled as he did so. There had always been a little part of him who'd wanted to stop time and go through other people's lives, see what sense he could make out of the things they kept around. He'd used to imagine doing it when he was little, and in some ways, he felt like a little boy as he ruffled, checked, noted, and collected. Useful items found their way to the bottom of the trolley he kept with them, where more personal items like pictures and such were tucked away in a latch-case – he figured that after going through any diaries or ledgers or logs in the hope of something new and interesting to read, he'd give them a respectful space burial.

They'd been going for a couple of hours through officers' quarters, dividing them by side of the corridor, when Kochanski started going through a room that felt eerie. She couldn't explain it; it was just like any other. It had clothes in the closet, bits of personal effects tucked discreetly in the drawers under more clothes, including a couple of mature-rated vid-discs and a toy her older sister used to jokingly call "a girl's best friend" (which was not unusual, though even now it still creeped her out the JMC had actually had some manufactured and issued them as blithely as condoms). The jewelry box held a few bracelets and a couple of ornamental rings, as well as some pins and necklaces. One looked familiar – the tiny silver devil-as-angel character pendant dangling from the chain was exactly like the one Dave had gotten for her on their third date. She'd always thought it was adorable; unfortunately, she'd lost hers sometime after being awakened from stasis, and had never been able to find it.

Feeling only marginally guilty she unclasped it and fastened it around her neck, patting the pendant against her skin. It wasn't much, but it made her feel a little better about things; she might find a way to still get home, after all.

As she reached into the jewelry box out of curiosity, she saw the corner of a piece of paper sticking out. Lifting out the top cover, she discovered a few photographs beneath. They were people she didn't entirely recognize (though a couple seemed naggingly familiar) – and one with Lister in it, his arm around the shoulders of some REALLY familiar-looking woman. Kochanski squinted, holding it closer to peer into the woman's face-

And abruptly dropped it with a loud shriek.

Rimmer's head jerked up at the alarm, and he set down his logging pad before heading out the door. He only belatedly realized what section of the officers' quarters they were in, and cursed inwardly as he skidded to the door parallel to one from which he'd frequently had to coax a drunken Lister back after one of his lonely benders.

He went in, not bothering to knock, to see her standing rooted, staring at a spot on the floor, trembling heavily. "Kris?" he ventured in the same soft tone he used to coax terrified rescuees. "Kris, look at me, not at whatever it is you're seeing."

She pointed at the insta-graph, ashamed to see her hand was trembling a little, tears in the corners of her eyes. "That's m- her, isn't it." It wasn't a question. "It is, right?"

Rimmer nodded, edging closer, arms at his sides to convey a nonthreatening stance. "Yes. I should have realized where we were." He sidled over to pick up the offending photograph, tucking it away safely out of her view. "Yes. This was her quarters. These were her things."

She rubbed her forearms, shaking her head. "No wonder everything feels so ... familiar." She sniffed, hating the water on her cheeks. "Like someone was walking over my grave."

"Come here." Rimmer eased in, pulling her close for a comforting hug, but leaving enough slack that she could pull away if she wanted. "Just enough similar to nag at you, but just enough different for it to not be really yours." He sighed when she nodded. "I understand, actually. It's the same with jumping dimensions. Everything's not quite the same, but not different enough to feel comfortable."

After two minutes, she nodded and gave a push, and he backed off. She rubbed the tears out of her eyes, her muscles still shaky, and observed, "I guess he's never been through here after ... after. I can't imagine that photo'd still be in here. Or this." She touched the necklace, wondering if she ought to rip the damn thing off. Oddly, it was the only thing that didn't feel weird.

"Oh, no, he mooched around in here all the time," Rimmer clarified. "Was how he got very ill, once. Probably the only place he ever cleaned up after himself; he wanted it to be a sort of shrine to you- _her_ memory." He waved a hand to encompass the room. "If he went through things, he would put them right back, or dust them carefully. He wouldn't even let Kryten come in here to clean, at least from what I remember."

She'd been feeling better until he said all that. Suddenly, she thought of her Dave going through her things, moping, missing her, and then she missed him badly. A fresh wave of sobbing hit her, and she sat down hard on the nearby chair, elbows on her knees, face in her hands.

Rimmer knelt beside her, rubbing a hand over her back. "You'd said once before that you didn't want to go back," he began, letting her dictate the amount of comfort and space she wanted, willing to be shrugged off with no notice. "Do you still feel like that?"

She got her voice under control and shook her head, straightening up. "I said- I didn't know how t-to get back. Where to go," she corrected. "I didn't w-want to end up a scattering of atoms in some weird alternate universe."

He let his arm drop, sitting back on his haunches to give her some room. "Nona is fully functional now." He pursed his lips, trying to think the best way to phrase it. "We can get you home if you want to go. I thought you'd wanted to settle in here, which is why I haven't brought it up."

Trying to focus on something that would take her mind off of Dave and photos and rifling through a loved one's things, she rubbed her cuff across her nose and looked down at Rimmer. That was odd; what was he doing down there? Being – sensitive? "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Well, for one, I'm not the complete arsehole you remember the Rimmer from your universe being. I'm ... far older, and I've done infinitely more." He reached up and brushed a piece of hair out of her face. "For another, you're just as human as anyone else, and not some rabid she-bitch come to make life hell." He smiled, hoping it might get her to do the same, a little.

"For yet another – I know what it's like to be out of time, out of space, out of place. Unable to get comfortable, missing the people closest to you, and having everything be so close, but never just right." He sighed. "Why do you think I went through so much trouble for everyone here? I didn't want just 'some' crew of Starbuggers, I wanted _my_ crew."

Still sniffling, she stood up, drying the rest of her face off with the corner of her collar. "Well," she finally pronounced, shakily, "I think that officially puts an end to my late-night overtime do-gooder inventory for a while."

He tipped his head, looking at her carefully. "What do you say we go have a drink? You can tell me all about the Lister I'll be meeting soon, and we can have an excuse to get into Kryten's cupboard of good wine."

"Please god, not urine recyc." She winced.

"Kris, we're aboard the _Dwarf_ ," he laughed. "We have actual, real alcohol here, along with what Kryten's trying to make in the still, out of actual real water and things. No, I mean raid the cupboard for the good stuff – I have no clue why Lister refuses to drink wine, but it's a striking character flaw – and let it dull some of the ache."

Two hours later, and well on her way to "stinking drunk," Kochanski finally began to stop thinking of The Incident, as she was privately referring to it. "So, wait – how many jars of pickles did he eat, again? This was while he was carrying the twins, right?"

"Five," Rimmer laughed, refilling her glass once more. "Five whole jars of gherkins, one right after the other, and dipping them in _custard_. It was one of the grossest things I've ever seen, but he looked so happy."

Laughing, she clapped her hands together, stomach hurting from the mirth. "Did he keep it all down?"

"That was the surprising thing. He just belched and toddled off to bed. The worst thing about the whole thing was hiding the alcohol." He rolled his eyes. "I had to bribe the Cat with so damn much to help me that it's a wonder I had anything left. Then again, Listy ended up absolutely addicted to orange juice. If he didn't have his citrus handy, he'd burst into tears. I felt so sorry for the poor bastard, but it was just so damned funny sometimes." He went to pour himself another glass, then frowned at the empty bottle. But, he merely shrugged, put it aside and opened another. "Umm, this one's a pink Zinfandel, so it'll be sweeter than the red."

Kochanski waited until he was done pouring and set down the bottle – she noticed he did so carefully, as if worried it would tip over although still mostly full – wondering the whole time if he could get drunk like a regular person. Or if he could, how much it would take compared to, say, her or even Lister. That reminded her of what she'd been waiting to say – and then she promptly forgot it. "How many women you gotten drunk on pink Zinfandel, anyway?" she chuckled.

He put on his best Ace smile and dropped his voice, leaning in to let his longer hair brush over his forehead. "Now, Kris, you're not going to accuse me of trying to get you drunk for some nefarious purpose, are you?" He tsked softly. "I'm no homewrecker; I'm just your average, everyday space hero."

Leaning forward, she laced her fingers, set her chin on them, sighed, batted her eyelashes – and then burst out laughing, face down on the table.

Rimmer leaned back with a delighted noise, head lolling back as he laughed. "Oh, heavens, someone who doesn't fall for that idiotic bullsmeg!" He straightened up. "Never, ever change. There are too few people like you in the cosmos."

When she finished, she pushed herself back to an upright position and wiped at the corners of her eyes, still giggling intermittently. "Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear. Did that ... like, work?"

"You have no idea. It was like the old moth-and-candle thing. And, it wasn't just women. You should have seen how these guys acted when the first one came around – especially Lister. All that charisma, all that élan, the goit just couldn't take it. He was like a twittering little schoolboy with a crush the size of Jupiter."

"First one what?" She wasn't so drunk she couldn't keep up, but she did wonder if she'd forgotten something in the conversation.

"The first Ace. I'm not the original, not by a long shot. We sort of chained our way along, plucking out different smegheads and kicking their arses until they grow up and learn to be the hero they wanted to be."

She cocked her head. "You become the hero you wanted to be?"

He took another long sip from his glass, feeling the warmth against his cheeks. Some days, he loved how well his mechanics simulated being human. "Most of us start out as pathetic zeroes who want more, who dream of being dashing and wonderful and important and useful. A few of us did something right and are at least halfway there already. But me, I never lost all my weaselness and caution, so I lasted much longer than any of the others. And when you can't die of natural causes, you just ... keep going. Everyone else ages and dies, you always have to leave. You can't ever settle down, because nobody can understand what it's like to do all that."

He set his glass down and leaned forward, all seriousness despite the wine flush. "The only person who ever had a hope of understanding me is Lister. The one here, I mean. Your Lister couldn't. He's too good, despite all his faults. He suits you ... mine suits me. He's not too good for me; he's just as messed-up as I am."

She cleared her throat, looking down at the table. "I was laughing at your delivery, and what you were saying, you know. The whole persona. Not really _you_ so much." Raising her eyes but not her head, she took in his expression and was sure he didn't realize how hopeful and relaxed it was. "You didn't come back for a family, or a ship, or a dimension, or any of that. You wanted your Dave back, too."

"He's a smeghead, but he's my friend," Rimmer agreed. "Son of a goit came back after me so damn many times when he really had no reason to." He shook his head, brow crinkling up. "I still don't know why he did it. He would have been much better off if he'd just left me to rot, after some of the stunts I'd pulled."

"You're going to make me say it. All right." She shrugged, lifted her glass, and swigged down a third of the wine. Licking her lips, she said, "Do you think he's in love with you, too?"

"No," came his immediate response, accompanied by a snort. "Oh, no. The only man he's ever even remotely shown interest in has been Ace, and I am definitely not him. No wall-to-wall charisma with a doctorate in being handsome and wonderful here."

"Oh," she said, toying with the stem of her glass, "I wouldn't be too dismissive of what he might think of you."

"Look, Kryten let it slip that he had one little dream about kissing me, but that could have been for anything. For all we know, I was trying to save him from getting nabbed by the Kinitawawi and dragged back to the missus." He refilled first his own, then hers when she held out her glass. Privately, he wondered just what sort of tolerance she'd built up over the course of her time here, but said nothing. "I'm sure it didn't mean anything."

"As I recall," she said, leaning back and regarding him sidelong, "he was bored and you beamed in to _Starbug_ , whisked off your wig, reassured him you'd never leave his side again, and laid one hell of a snog on his aching lips." She waggled her hand. "That last bit's a bit editorial. Description is everything."

Rimmer shook his head. "Now, see, I'm pretty sure you're just having me on." He pointed in her direction with two shaky fingers before setting them down again. "Lister would sooner dream of his Kochanski doing that than me."

She laughed again. "You act like each person only gets one person in life that they can fall in love with."

"No, I'm acting like there's absolutely no reason Lister should be in love with me, which there isn't."

"Look there, _Ace_ – no offense, but you just proved ten minutes ago you don't know every woman as well as you think you do," she snorted. "What makes you think you've got all this total insight into one man?" She held up a hand. "Shut up a minute, you ... you." He snorted a laugh, but kept silent.

Ticking off on her fingers, she listed what was in her head. "You figure out a way to traverse time along with space, or at least find the giant floating head that can help you. You make a deal with him to not only find Lister, but a way to give him back his _missing arm_ and keep us from getting killed for several months-" She paused on that. "Or almost got us killed several times; I can't tell. Anyway. Oh, and then you test out a mirror universe nobody knows anything about for him – and us, yeah, too – and spend the next six months searching the multiverse trying to find him AGAIN. Then you engineer that whole series-jump sequence, and give up an infinite ... infinity of easy pickings for one dormouse-faced sub-astro and his motley crew that YOU say YOU knew never even liked you very much." Finishing up, she dropped her hand, flopped back in the chair, and nodded vigorously. "Oh yeah. I wouldn't find anything to love about that, either."

Rimmer sighed and looked away. "Will you stop being so perceptive?" he grumbled. "Just because I'd like it to happen doesn't mean he would.”

"I know," she sympathized. "Doesn't mean he wouldn't, though, either."

"By that definition, the only way out would be to ask him ... and I'm not about to do that."

"Why not?"

"I said I'm not a _complete_ coward, not that it was completely extir- ex- gone from my psyche."

"Well, it's your choice to suffer in silence, if that's what you want." She hiccupped, then giggled. "Uh- Oh, this happens when I've had a bit m- hic ... to imbibibulate."

"Jusht put your head down on your arms. It'll pass," Rimmer advised following his own counsel. "Besides, if I don't ask, I don't have to worry about him telling me no."

She followed his head down with her own. They were positioned at opposite corners, heads turned inward so they could sort of see each other. "Do you feel nauseous?" Kochanski asked out of the half of her mouth not pressed to the table. "Do you get nauseous?"

"I can, if some arsehole has hit me with an EMP, or if someone puts a power surge through me," he confessed as his eyes fell closed. "Not so much with imbibing. If I want, I can go soft-light and sober up, but it's messy."

She tried to furrow her brows with cold tile against her cheek. "Why would it be- OHHH." After thinking about it some more, she tried to make a face. "Ewww."

"Hey, there are some benefits to being a technical simulant, and some drawbacks," he pointed out. "And, that's what showers and toilets are for."

"What're some of the other drawbacks?" she wanted to know, looping an arm up around the back of her head to rest on the table.

"I can't die. I can be killed – it's hard to do, but possible. But, I can't grow old and die. Everyone I know and care about will age and die while I just go slowly mad." He'd often thought about this, and the heartbreaking tone of his voice was piercing.

"So why'd you come back to him, then? You were away, you'd gotten used to it. Why put yourself through it on purpose, when you don't even know if you're wanted?"

"I'm a selfish bastard. I'm willing to trade an eternity of being a complete and utter whack job for friendship now."

"What are some of the good things about your ..." She lifted a hand from somewhere, she didn't know which, or if it was even hers, and waved it at him. "You-ness?"

"I can't be hurt very easily. I can shield people. I'm strong. I'm quicker, but not by much, just enough. I can stay awake longer, but I still need to sleep like anyone else. I can eat to get energy, but I can also charge myself from batteries or a power supply if I need to, or if food is scarce."

She was quiet for a moment. "Does love hurt you more now?" Well, it had seemed logical in her brain, but swapped that out for _My lord, where'd you get this cheese?_ on its way to her mouth.

“I dunno," he replied honestly. "I don't think I was really in love until the Tank – or, if I did, I didn't realize it. I don't have anything to compare it to." He shifted, nurfling into his arms. "But, if I wanted to, I could turn it off. Not feel a damn thing, become a cold killer, just like a sim."

She eyed him. "Can you pick a moment?"

"What do you mean?" He didn't understand that at all.

"Love. When you loved him."

He was silent, trying to think over just when he might have understood it. "Had to be sometime after the incident with the fuck virus," he finally decided. "Stupid bastard. Guards tried to break everyone up; didn't work. They had to bring in people from the med-lab in hazmat suits. Flipped to soft-light to keep from getting caught in the fallout of that. I think it was when he was just being his normal, annoying self one day, couple months after he realized just what he'd done and apologized, and I couldn't help thinking that I wanted to snog him."

"Uggghhhhh." She made more indefinable noises of doom. "That's the worst kind. Least if you fall in love in a stress situation things can only go downhill. You do it on a normal day, stuff only gets more real from then on."

“No shitski," he sighed. "And can you imagine 'real' when it comes to that slob? I'd have to brush his teeth every time I want to snog him, and shove him into the shower anytime I wanted to have sex with him. It's a logistical nightmare."

"Was a time Dave was that bad, too." She managed to nod with her cheek on the table. "Didn't take much to get him to clean up, actually. You’d be surprised what the prospect of a regular slap and tickle'll do for a man."

"Yeah, well... I'm surprised he didn't try to go more after you, really. Even Kryten thought he would."

She yawned. "Maybe he was waiting for someone else he wanted more. I don' know."

"Stop getting my hopes up," Rimmer mumbled, feeling his grip on consciousness slipping. "'S not nice."

"You don't need me for that." She was nearly out herself. "Clearly yours is working well 'nough or you wouldn' be here."

The only answer she got was a soft, nasal snore. Arnold J. Rimmer was dead to the world.


	14. “Someone to Watch Over You”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace Rimmer may have waited too long to go home again, but with some help, he might just get the happy ending none of his predecessors did. Set in and after Series 8

_**Fic: Red Dwarf: Someone to Watch Over You**_  
Title: “Someone to Watch Over You”  
Writers: [](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/profile)[**metalkatt**](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/) and [](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/profile)[**veronica_rich**](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/)  


  


He was feeling good. Not just feeling good, but looking good as well. Not his normal, everyday, drop-dead gorgeous, but the kind of beauty that would melt stone. Maybe if he melted enough of it, he'd find a woman more amenable to him than Officer Bud-Babe.

He shook his head as he slunk down the corridor, then reached up to make a quick check of his hair. Still perfect. Maybe that was B.B.'s problem – he was _too_ good for her. She just couldn't handle his enormous beauty. He decided that must be it, and followed his nose to the scent of alcohol. Where there was alcohol, there was usually Chipmunk Cheeks, and with him came food.

He was rather disappointed to find Goalpost Head and the woman slumped over the table, hair askew and seriously in need of a shower and some toothpaste, if his nose was still in working order. He looked about, but not seeing his food-provider, he headed off to the drive room in case the human was trying ineffectually to sniff out where they were going.

Lister stared at the machine near the drive-room entryway, hating it very much. It needed fixing; he could fix it. He didn't want to fix it, damn it. "Tea, hot, with cream," he ordered.

"Certainly," it trilled back at him in a lounge singer's voice. "With crackers, or croutons?"

"I don't WANT soup, you smegging overextended hotpot," he rasped with painful patience. "I want tea. Hot. With cream. Cow's milk, not whatever else you might have in there. Got it?"

"Coming right up. With or without bacon bits?"

Cat glided inside, executing a little spin as he arrived. "Is that thing being stubborn again?" He huffed. With a little jaunt he was over there, and thumped the side of it with one elegantly-manicured fist. "Hey, you! Give me food. I want a nice fat mouse with a bird on the side – and don't forget the spoon!"

"Enjoy your breakfast." Cat picked up the bowl of Krispies and the carton of milk and made his way to one of the chairs.

"Why're you beggin' food out of a vending unit?" Lister wanted to know. "I thought you were going to the officers' kitchen. Or was it too much trouble to pour the milk yourself?"

"Because Toilet-Brush Hair and Officer B.B. are busy in it," he replied as he opened the carton.

"Busy?"

Cat rolled his eyes. "They are sleepin' together, buddy. And since I have other ways of getting food, I don't have to deal with their stinking up the kitchen with their god-awful smells. I just hope they take a shower when they're done."

He eyed the felinoid for several seconds, not even able to form an expression out of incomprehension. "You're takin' the piss," he finally said. As the Cat kept happily chewing and took another delicate sip of milk from the side of the bowl, his expression remained pleasantly engaged in his food – which meant he just might be serious. "No way – Rimmer and KOCHANSKI?" Before he had time to think of why he did it, he turned and took off for the kitchen, hand on his head to keep his deerstalker from flying off.

Not wanting to give up his meal, but wanting to see what he'd said that had got the human into a tizzy, Cat scooped up his bowl and loped out after, perfect balance preventing him from spilling so much as a drop.

They both skidded to a stop several feet from the kitchen entryway – well, Lister skidded and barely managed not to overcorrect, while Cat came to an instant standstill, his reflexes keeping his bowl upright and spill-free. Lister glared at him, then crept closer, feeling suddenly cross. stuck his head in, prepared to yank it back out if he was too traumatized by what was going on.

After staring pruriently at the couple for about thirty seconds, he drew back and turned to Cat. He sucked at one of his upper teeth, not yet having brushed them this morning. "They're _sleeping._ "

"That's what I SAID, Monkey Boy. They're sleeping together. They got drunk, and they reek. I'm surprised they aren't peeling paint off the bulkheads." He shook his head, and took another bite of his cereal. "If I'd meant they were having sex, I would have said so."

Lister dropped his voice. "You know by now what 'sleeping together' means. You've spent enough time with us. I can't help but wonder if you said it on purpose."

"You're assuming I care about your stupid metaphors. If there hadn't been any other way to get food, I would have been pinpointing their internal organs to poke at to get them to move so I could eat."

Rolling his eyes, Lister had an idea. Grinning, he put his finger to his lips, then crooked it at the Cat and inclined his head for him to follow. They crept silently into the room and circled the table, watching the two sleep. Kochanski looked pretty hygienic except for a little sliver of drool pooled on the tiled top under her face. Rimmer's mouth was slightly open, and a nasal whiffling issued forth; Lister was amazed at how well holographic technology reproduced life.

He turned to the Cat and mouthed silently, "There's something I've always wanted to do." Tiptoeing around behind Rimmer's head, he swallowed to clear his throat, quietly, then leaned over, putting his lips very near the man's ear, parted his lips ...

And yelled. "RIMMER, WAKE UP, YOU BLOODY NOISY SMEGHEAD!!"

He stood back just as Rimmer shot back, tumbling over the back of his chair, and executed a sleepy, but mostly-coordinated roll to end up on his back, legs splayed out in front of him, propped up on his elbows. "You jammy goit," he grumbled, glaring up at the shorter man. "You know damned well that it's now officially an intergalactic crime to wake me before ten a.m."

Lister rocked back on his heels, pleased with himself, hands in his pockets. "Mornin', Sunshine," he offered rather too cheerily. "If I light an open flame near you, will Kryten have to come running with a fire extinguisher?"

Kochanski blinked one eye open, wondering what all the ruckus was about. "Comin', Captain," she yawned. "Wasn't napping ... off-duty, sir ..."

"Stand down, Kochanski," Rimmer offered helpfully. "It's just Lister being an utter bastard."

"You're not th' captain," she yawned. "I think my face is glued to the table."

"I'm _a_ captain," Rimmer pointed out before settling another dark look on Lister. "Are you happy now? Payback over?"

Draining his bowl, Cat set it aside as he fluidly ambled over to take Kochanski's shoulders in his hands. "Come on, now, Officer Babe, we'll get you up and into the shower, get you cleaned up in no time ..."

"HUH?" She was alert, even unable to turn her head properly once on her feet. "You'll wha- Oh, hell, there's no worry. You're allergic to water," she mumbled, slapping at one of his paws every so often as she ambled out, trying to crack her neck.

Leaning forward just enough to offer a hand, Lister addressed Rimmer. "Got a little pished, I see?"

"Just a tad. She was crying after having gone through the other Kochanski's quarters." He took the hand-up, grasping Lister's shoulder with the other as he stood, wobbly. "You would have done the same."

"What, crying or drinking? Or going through quarters?"

"She came upon a picture of you and the other Kochanski," he enunciated slowly, trying to think through the throbbing in his brain. "She panicked – who wouldn't? – and began crying. She wants to go home. We came here to settle her down and talk about her Lister, and with a few bottles of wine down us, things flowed much more easily.”

"That's what I thought, maybe." Lister nodded. "I've done all three."

"I know. I've spent hours hounding you to come back from it, if you'll remember. Before I could drag you bodily."

Lister dipped his chin in a nod. "Believe me, I remember. I nearly wore out my voice twice yelling at you to go away."

"I know. So, what's the vital emergency that you had to hit me with payback while I have a massive hangover? I haven't been able to sober up yet."

Lister shrugged, reaching up into his deerstalker for a piece of the foil-wrapped gum that now replaced his cigarettes. "Payback's never about making sense or timing well."

"So, no emergency, then?"

"Don't guess so, really." He pretended to be thinking. "Oh, the Cat thinks you stink to high heaven. Emergency on his olfactory senses, I guess." He shrugged. "Might as well take a shower; if Kryten's right on the scans, we'll be able to load up on more water later today or tomorrow, maybe."

The hologram gave a halfhearted half-Rimmer salute and schlepped out, heading for his quarters and the shower so he could empty his system of toxins and feel much cleaner.

*******

"I can't believe you monkeys DO this!" Cat whined, still looking immaculate with barely a smudge despite the cleaning brushes on his hands and feet as he shuffled around inside one of the _Dwarf's_ huge empty water tanks.

Lister rolled his eyes. "Look, do you want clean bathwater or not?" He considered flipping the rinse hose at the felinoid, but decided he didn't want to be shredded.

Rimmer, on the other hand, had no problem with Kochanski dousing him with water as he scrubbed, letting the filth be carried away with much more ease. He could always shift to soft-light to dry off, and get the damnable dirt out from under his fingernails. "See him?" Lister aimed his head toward the sopping hologram. "He doesn't mind being turned into a wet t-shirt champion. You don't hear _him_ complaining about having to do this."

Cat spun as best he could without getting his cuffs too filthy, and pointed in the same direction. "THAT is not Goalpost Head. He smells like him now, and he looks like him, but he acts nothing like him."

Lister shook his head. "We've been over this, Cat. It's HIM. He replaced Ace – I heard the story firsthand from the previous Ace, packed his little light bee in the tiny casket my-" He stopped, since Rimmer was giving him a funny look, and cleared his throat. "Sorry, man." Then he went back to scrubbing twice as earnestly to avoid having to look at Rimmer again. “If you'd quit your caterwauling, we'd be done with this and hauling the water for your precious showers," he grumped at Cat.

They eventually finished scrubbing the muck from the tanks, and while they worked, Kryten had been putting together a pumping system to allow those tanks to be filled with water from the ocean, which would be desalinated and irradiated inside the ship's main tanks. They made several trips back and forth to the planet, sucking up water, taking it back up, bringing the empty tanks back down again – they'd already brought down most of the unusable water before they scrubbed the tanks – and otherwise having a very boring, monotonous time of it, when they all simply wished to get onto the planet for some well-deserved sun and fresh air.

Finally, on the seventh day, Lister put his foot down. "Y'know, even God took a breather after a week," he complained. "Let's just do a couple of runs today, and then I'd like to go back and get in some surface-time. On real land. NOT working."

Kochanski nodded in agreement. "You've been whining about wanting to play golf, and I want the beach. There's a clearing about six hundred meters into the trees, away from the waterside. Why don't you and Rimmer take the _Wildfire_ and settle down there, and the rest of us can be in the _'Bug_. It'll give us all some room to spread out."

Lister grinned at Rimmer. "Don't think you'll be able to smack that ball around orbit of _this_ planet."

"Says the gimp who didn't even TELL me I'd hit it around that last one," the hologram bitched lightly.

"You wanted exercise; you got it, right?"

"You welshed out and went to sit back in the _'Bug_!"

"I came back. We didn't just leave you there."

"That's not the point. The point is, you got lazy."

"Says the _hologram_ who couldn't wear himself out on three consecutive marathons," Lister pointed out.

Rimmer rolled his eyes. "Just because it only takes a few minutes for me to recharge doesn't mean I'm a bad person."

"You don't even break a sweat if you don't want to!"

"That's not true." Rimmer held up a finger. "I can and do sweat if I have enough moisture when my bee gets too hot, and my hologrammatic body alone isn't enough to shunt the heat away."

Lister held up his hands. "Point is, it's a good idea; we should do it. All in favor?" He stuck his stubby hand into the air. Kochanski shot hers up; Kryten as well, to match the humans; then Cat, who grumbled about naps in sunbeams; and finally Rimmer, who looked quite amenable to the suggestion.

*****

Much later, shortly after Rimmer had touched his ship down on the edge of the relatively flat, red-clay terrain, Lister paused from polishing the head of one of the long-unused clubs and frowned over Rimmer's marking and erasing. “Quit your incessant planning. We're just going to hit some balls.”

"What do you mean, stop planning? It's not like this comes with a ready-made course, Lister." Rimmer adjusted the topography printout on his knees and frowned at the shorter man. "We're not going to find any rabbit holes to use, either."

Lister rolled his eyes, put the last club in the bag, and fiddled with the controls on his oxygen helmet. "We don't have to have a course. It's just hittin' a ball with a stick the best we can. It's not even so much 'bout that as it is spending time together, relaxing, doing nothing much."

"Well, then how are we going to know if we hit it where we're supposed to?"

"If it makes you feel better, Rimmer, pick an object and aim for it. That's what we did when we played last time, or don't you remember?"

“Fine.” Rimmer put away the papers. "We just have to make sure your oxygen supply is enough. Don't want you passing out."

“I'll be fine." Lister grabbed the little cart with the clubs at the back of the ship and lowered them before him on each step going down the hatch. "I can be outside for a while without the helmet, remember? I figure we can get in a few hours of this- oh, hey, would you grab the little cooler there? Don't want to forget my lager."

Rimmer slung the strap over his shoulder with only a token grumble, and followed along. He looked up at the sky and frowned, noticing a sheet of clouds that seemed much closer than they had when they'd landed. He kept his mouth shut for the moment, lest he be accused of being a party pooper, and walked along beside his companion.


	15. “Someone to Watch Over You”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace Rimmer may have waited too long to go home again, but with some help, he might just get the happy ending none of his predecessors did. Set in and after Series 8

_**Fic: Red Dwarf: Someone to Watch Over You**_  
Title: “Someone to Watch Over You”  
Writers: [](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/profile)[**metalkatt**](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/) and [](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/profile)[**veronica_rich**](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/)  


Thirty-eight minutes later, Lister was under the ship glaring at the hatch, waiting for Rimmer to catch up. Thunder boomed around them, and the rain was coming in thick, hard sheets. "Come ON, man! How the smeg is it I beat you back here?"

Rimmer shrugged. "It's just water. Now, if I were to get hit by lightning, that would be bad, but the trees are taller than I am."

"Yeah, well, if I were to get hit by lightning, there'd be the stench of fried Scouser hanging over this rock 'til the next millennium, so kindly quit moseying, and would you please just get the hatch open? I can't seem to, for some smegging reason," he grumbled.

With a roll of his eyes and a huff, Rimmer picked up the pace and reached the stairs with decent speed. "Emergency release here," he explained, showing Lister how to fit his fingers in. "There's a print scanner and a biometric monitor; she can tell if you're friendly or not." He clicked the release and shoved the door open, gesturing for Lister to go inside.

A few minutes later, Lister perched on the edge of one of the cots, the same towel under him that he'd pressed to his hair and clothes to soak up the deluge as best he could. Another crack of thunder resounded outdoors. "This is complete and utter horse SMEG," he declared. "Haven't had a break in over a week, and it's been smegging sunny and pretty the whole time. Until today!"

Rimmer laughed, his own towel soaking up the wet under him, as well. "That's how vacations go, Lister. Then again, it's not like we have anywhere we have to be, so we can just wait it out."

Lister looked around; it really was a very small ship. "You still have your cards?"

By the time they'd finished playing one of as many different card games as they could think of, their clothes were merely damp instead of soaking, and Rimmer heard the growl of Lister's stomach clearly. He shot him an amused glance. "Hungry, are we?"

"A little," he admitted, looking around for some sort of chronometer. "Smeg, where's me- Fiona, what time is it?"

"Hmm? Sorry, was working on a systems check,” came the pleasant voice. “As far as your body's concerned, it's midnight. As far as this planet's concerned, it's about six-thirty in the evening."

"Eh? No wonder." He looked around. "So what've you got aboard?"

Rimmer picked out a couple dishes from the food unit and handed one over, settling back. "Here, try it. Your shirt will hide any stains," he teased.

He inhaled. "Is that a tikka masala?"

"I've saved a Lister or two in my time, and I made sure we had a couple curry options."

After two bites, Lister tried to talk around it, gave up, and chewed and swallowed politely, instead. "Are we all just alike, then? Just pick up any Lister and swap 'im out with any other anywhere else without a ‘by your leave?’"

Rimmer blinked. "No, that's not how it works at all. I usually return them to their homes in their own dimension. It's cruel to swap people out and expect everything will still hold up."

His fork halfway to his mouth, leaning over the dish, Lister raised his eyes to Rimmer. "You're a lot more literal than you used to be," he observed.

"Am I?" He took another bite of his linguine and pondered. "I suppose I am. Part of the job, I think."

"I mean, it's weird, 'cause you have a better sense of humor than you used to," Lister continued, "but at the same time, you seem more serious now. Hard to figure you out." He nodded at Rimmer's tray. "What're you eating?"

"Linguine with sausage and marinara. Doubt you'd like it. And as for me ... well, I grew up. It's nearly impossible not to, doing the kind of things I do- did," he corrected.

"I didn't live on just curry back on Earth. I did eat other things when forced to." Lister was fixated on that plate in Rimmer’s hands.

"Well, nobody's forcing you to now," Rimmer pointed out.

Lister ate, considering the odd mix of feelings the other man brought up. He'd always been frustrating, but it used to be that Lister didn't understand what made the man so unpleasant and disagreeable in the face of Lister's occasional efforts to include him in his life. It wasn't like the guy had been exactly spoiled for a plethora of friends. Now the situation was – well, not reversed, just skewed. Taking over for Ace had changed him, in ways Lister admired and others he wasn't sure about. Rimmer was older now – far older – and more experienced with women than he was. This didn't bother Lister so much, but there'd been some confusing hours lately that he'd spent thinking a little too hard on those possible encounters than was probably strictly platonic.

Rimmer still frustrated him – just not in the same ways he once did. Sitting three feet away politely eating his noodles, anyone would have found him an agreeable dining companion. Lister didn't understand the oddness in his gut; it was sort of like being on a date with a girl who wouldn't let on what she thought of you, but surely that wasn't an apt comparison. He pointed his fork at the man’s plate. "Since when'd you like pasta? You used to complain every spaghetti night at the cafeteria," he said.

"JMC spaghetti tasted like your used shoestrings, and the sauce was something that would be too disgusting to mention while we were eating," he huffed. "Pasta should be treated with delicious, loving care. It should be meticulously fashioned, the sauce precisely blended ..." He sighed, his tone having taken on a dreamy note. He loved carbohydrates with quite a passion.

"And that is? Even from a computer program?" He eyed the concoction.

"Lister, the system scanned the best gourmet foods I've ever found, for special occasions. It can help sometimes if the rescuee hasn't been starved, but needs comfort."

"All right, let's see, then." He cleaned off his fork and held it up for permission to stab a bite of something from Rimmer's plate.

Rimmer smiled down at his plate, then nodded his assent at Lister. "I still remember the first place I tasted this. It was probably fifty years ago, on an alternate Earth. There was an old Italian couple whose 'adopted' daughter had gotten herself and her son in trouble again." A laugh. "That girl, even with a kid of her own, was just like the original Ace, I'd swear it, but she didn't have any Rimmer blood in her that she knew of." He watched Lister chew, thoughtfully. "I remember Louis clucking over my bacofoil, and helping me choose something better, and Sophia in the kitchen, making the best food I've ever tasted in my life."

"It's pretty good." Lister stabbed another bite for himself, chewed for a while to savor it, then got up and sat next to Rimmer instead, so he could get at the third bite without making a mess, as he talked. "Gran wasn't the best cook; her husband did all right. He had a mean spaghetti Bolognese that'd give any authentic chef a run for their money."

Before he'd gone off as Ace, Rimmer would have been flipping out at Lister helping himself to his dish, but now, he regarded it all with amusement. He'd known he missed the man; he'd missed all of them, but he hadn't realized how far Lister had wormed his way under his photons until a few months before. "Hmm, I would have liked to try that," he mused. "I considered becoming a chef once, but my father put a rapid halt to that. Said that making food wasn't at all manly, especially the cupcakes I used to be a master at decorating."

"Oh, eh?" Lister sucked the tiny disc of sausage off his fork as he looked up at Rimmer again, swallowing. "Didn't know you did much cooking. I seem t' remember some dumplings that nearly took up permanent residence in my colon." He softened the criticism with a smile right after he licked sauce off his bottom lip. "Or maybe that was the skutters' fault?"

"That was _totally_ the skutters' fault," Rimmer sniffed, claiming a few bites of the curry sauce to make up for the linguine he was losing. "I hadn't realized I needed to give them instructions in computer code, with 'if-thens' and dependencies."

For some reason, huffy Rimmer made Lister grin; it felt like old times, only less violent. "Geez, if you wanted my food, all you had to do was ask," he deadpanned, holding his plate closer.

"Says the man who's stealing mine." He chomped into his forkful pointedly, giving Lister a 'So, there!' look.

"Be that way." Lister pointedly took a bigger forkful of the pasta, making sure to spin his utensil several times to get the big glob around it; in fact, he had to lean over Rimmer and his plate to poke it in his mouth so it wouldn't fall off on the journey.

"You total bastard!" Lister's next forkful, Rimmer leaned down and caught some of it, which also necessitated catching Lister's mouth. The collision wasn't that rough, and it tickled. Lister sniggered to cover it, as he quickly chewed the bite and swallowed. "Selfish prat," he muttered in amusement.

"Twit," Rimmer volleyed, after he swallowed his own.

Licking his lips, he studied Rimmer's eyes, only a few inches away. That ticklish feeling had been … Tingly. Hot. Erotic. Leaning closer, Lister brought his mouth to Rimmer's, closing his eyes and concentrating on lightly wedging his upper lip between the other man's.

Rimmer licked softly along that lip, tasting the marinara and curry. It wasn't an unpleasant combination of flavors, and he realized that Lister must have taken to brushing his teeth more often.

Pulling off, Lister stayed close, meeting Rimmer's eyes. He felt weird for the kiss ... on the other hand, he wanted more. His mouth was dry, he felt his pulse thumping an uneven staccato, and his hands were suddenly itchy, the one under his plate and the other one, which had dropped his fork somewhere and had at some point fastened to the top of Rimmer's thigh. He leaned in an inch or two, licking his lips, but going no further this time.

"Taste good?" Rimmer rumbled, defaulting slightly to Ace-mode as his mind tried to make sense of the kiss that had surprised him with its heat.

The aridity was replaced by a rush of saliva along his tongue as Lister heard that voice, saw the twinkle of interest in the hologram's woodsy eyes. "Yeah," he managed, finally willing to stare at that mouth through thick lashes.

"Want more?" Rimmer tipped his head to get his nose out of the way and pushed his chin forward in invitation. Lister surged forward, licking into Rimmer's mouth, stroking his even, straight teeth, the roof of his mouth, his tongue. Every touch triggered a need for more, and he didn't know how long the back of his throat had been producing that soft, guttural moan.

“Hot” was one of the few words that still lived inside Rimmer's addled brain, but he wasn't even sure what it meant right now. He knew “more,” though, and “want,” and he wanted a hell of a lot more of whatever this was. He pushed up into the kiss, one hand coming up to grasp the back of Lister's neck, and as he leaned back to pull Lister over him, he heard a set of soft, metallic crunches, and felt a decidedly unpleasant squishy sensation somewhere around his middle.

They broke off the kiss and looked between them, the mushy mess of food staining their clothing. "That ... isn't good." Rimmer's vocal chords couldn't form anything more than that, his normal precision completely gone.

Lister was the first to laugh. He pulled back, stacked the plates, and looked around before setting them on the floor. Hunkering down to do this put him at level with Rimmer's stomach, and he leaned closer, licking a path through the marinara staining his shirt. It was thin and slightly silky, and as he lapped, he felt the material getting wet again; that made him recall how it had stuck to Rimmer's body when it was soaked through earlier. He worked his way up, licking material until he reached skin, then up over the man's Adam's apple. Rimmer laid his head back, letting Lister taste his throat, but brought his head back down level for their mouths to meet a third time.

"Holy fucking _smeg,_ ” Rimmer ground out, such feeling nearly incapacitating in its sensuality. He latched on for another kiss, this one harder, needier, much more demanding.

At first, Lister drew back; he wanted Rimmer to come to him again. Throwing himself into the kiss once he knew he was wanted, too, he crawled up on the cot, a knee on either side of those slim hips. He pressed a hand to the back of Rimmer's head, squeezing tight, thick curls between his fingers. Once Rimmer got the idea and helped him, his hands sliding beneath the bottom of Lister's shirts at his lower back, Lister put his free hand on Rimmer's upper arm, stroking down, then back up to his shoulder, over and over. “So, there … Ace ... wanna stoke my clipper?"

"Oh, shut up-" Rimmer weakly scoffed, unable to manage anything better at the man’s low, intimate tone of voice.


	16. “Someone to Watch Over You”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace Rimmer may have waited too long to go home again, but with some help, he might just get the happy ending none of his predecessors did. Set in and after Series 8

_**Fic: Red Dwarf: Someone to Watch Over You**_  
Title: “Someone to Watch Over You”  
Writers: [](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/profile)[**metalkatt**](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/) and [](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/profile)[**veronica_rich**](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/)  


  


"Seriously ... mmph ... what does that even ... mean, 'stoke me a clipper,' anyway?” Lister persisted. He worked his hands down into Rimmer’s collar, under the plum shirt. “What's … mmph, a ‘clipper?’"

"I ... hate kippers. Okay?" He covered Lister’s mouth momentarily, trying to quiet him before complaining, “Can’t you just kiss me, without the commentary?”

"Doubt it.” He licked the bridge of Rimmer’s nose. “Might be able t’ fuck without it, though.”

"Oh, gods.” Closing his eyes, he sank his face into the side of Lister’s neck. “Smegging _hell_.” He felt Lister chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chest, but the sound was warm and conspiratorial, rather than ridiculing.

Still – and despite the scores of people he’d been with over the long decades – Rimmer felt nerves creeping in. He hadn’t been waiting decades to get his hands on any of _them_. He hadn’t been wondering how they felt and tasted, or what their eyes looked like from two inches away, or whether any of their voices were as rough with passion as with annoyance. When they left his bed, or he left theirs, he didn’t feel fully satisfied, not even as much as he did now, with Lister’s arms simply around him – and this was despite how clumsy and young he felt, how inexperienced, how achingly hard and keyed-up he was to be next to the person he’d waited a lifetime to touch.

Lister nosed through Rimmer's hair, rubbing his back. "You okay down there?" he asked, muffling his words.

"It's entirely possible I might short out from sheer horniness," he admitted, and nuzzled into Lister's warm skin. "I feel like I'm an idiotic adolescent again, thank you so very much." His words carried desire, and seemed to curl hotly about them.

Lister pulled away just enough to look down into Rimmer's face, so close. "Maybe I should stop, then ... I don't do children," he breathed, thumbs rubbing whorls around Rimmer's earlobes as he cradled his head.

Rimmer pressed forward to take a kiss, turning to get his nose out of the way. "You do, and I can't be responsible for my actions. I've wanted you far too long to let you go right now ... and by Io, you feel _incredible._ "

Heat bloomed deep in Lister’s stomach at the pretty words, and shot immediately to his groin. "How long?" he managed to ask between Rimmer licking his lips.

"Oh, about the usual amount," he murmured, and let his tongue trace over those lips. "I'm not as well endowed as you, but I do fairly well."

"Wisearse."

"Since before I left," came the serious admission.

Knowing that, a lot of old things suddenly made more sense to Lister; to keep things light, he addressed the earlier remark. "Yeah, well – I'll be the judge of that, don't you think?" Lister gave him his most brilliant smile.

"You'll be the judge of whether I wanted you before I left or not?" Rimmer was captivated by that smile, and not at all sure he heard the man correctly.

"Your _endowments_ ," Lister corrected, wriggling pointedly against Rimmer's lap. "Just – there, yeah," he breathed, voice polished gravel. He arched a brow and gave the man an impressed look. "I don't think you've got anything to be ashamed of."

"No- ohh – ohhhh." Rimmer let out a long, low groan, and his neck seemed to lose all its bones. His head fell back against the cot, his expression more open and vulnerable than Lister had ever seen it. Pure desire lived in every angle of his face, and he couldn't help his hips from rocking up, wanting to feel the other man's length against his own. Lister followed him down, drawn by his eyes and parted lips, flaring nostrils breathing deeply. They were mostly on the cot, him hovering on hands and knees, Rimmer's shirt falling open and his chest heaving unsteadily. Sitting up briefly, Lister struggled out of his Hawaiian shirt and dropped it on the bed, then discarded the dirty t-shirt with a toss somewhere behind him. Rimmer scrabbled at the man's arms, wanting to feel Lister's skin on his. "Down, down, down here; come here, dammit."

Falling forward on his hands, he stopped just short of Rimmer's mouth. He opened his lips and breathed against Rimmer's lower lip, barely flicking it with his tongue, eyes half-closed. "Do your worst, Arn."

Rimmer's hands were everywhere he could conceivably put them, caressing, touching, mapping, tweaking, testing. His eyes were barely open; he concentrated far more on what he felt than he saw, like he wanted to note down, record, and memorize every bit of the man above him. What made Lister groan was Rimmer brushing a couple of his plaits up and down his back, gripping them loosely with one hand; that he would touch them, clutch at them, after years of disdaining them. He moved, skating impatiently down Rimmer's torso on his lips and nose-tip, occasionally brushing skin with his forehead even as he hooked his fingers into the man's waistband and peeled him bare. His penis bobbed and waved, and Lister licked the underside, his curiosity overriding inexperience.

Rimmer forgot what words were. He felt hot, wet, pressure on his most sensitive bits and let out a long, low, needy groan, hands reaching down to pet and slide over Lister's hair.

Lister grinned over his work, laughing soundlessly as he licked and sucked sporadically at the head. It wasn't unpleasant as he'd always sort of imagined, but he wasn't sure how much was his own adaptive capability and how much was due to the body twisting beneath him. Lister swallowed some of it, only getting about two-thirds down before nearly gagging at the back of his throat; he had a sudden, new respect for the few women who'd ventured to give him head.

Rimmer knew exactly why this felt more intense than anything else he'd ever experienced, but thinking about it would mean thinking, and thinking drew focus away from Lister's admirable work. He quaked and shuddered, but his eyes flew open when he felt the familiar tightening in his groin; he hadn't expected his control to give out this soon. He reached down to push feebly at Lister's head and shoulders. "Dave, Dave, move; I'm gonna ... gonna ... God, don't stop ..."

Lister pulled off just enough to say, "Okay," and dived back on, managing a silly, triumphant grin while sucking. He pressed his hands to Rimmer's hips, pinning them as much as possible, but he was strong, and they bucked anyway as he flooded Lister's throat with thick, warm saltiness. It nearly made Lister choke, but he pulled off and swallowed, licking at his lips, and then his lover's still-hard member. "Wow," he managed, after mostly cleaning it.

"Up, up." He grabbed at Lister's shoulders until he could grasp an arm, pulling and encouraging the man to slide up over him. Chest to chest, Rimmer dove into Lister's mouth, knowing no other way to express the utter, total affection, desire, heat he felt. He held Lister's face with one hand, the other roving over shoulders and back, clutching at any skin he could find. Temporarily, at least, all past disagreements, fights, bitter feuds, pranks, and general disagreement between the men dissolved, burned away by mutual need and passion. Lister, who'd never given much thought to kissing other men other than wondering if stubble could burn, sampled the inside of Rimmer's mouth thoroughly as he reached between them and pushed at his shorts, using one hand and then the other to get them low on his hips, then further down.

The ship rocked around them as the wind drove the storm, the water hissing against the hull as it sheeted down. Thunder pulsed in the sky, making the _Wildfire_ shiver by the sheer pressure of it, and Rimmer moaned into Lister's mouth. He scrabbled at the wall behind the cot, searching for the catch to the tiny compartment. His fingers closed around a small bottle, and pushed it into his lover's wrist, not quite cognizant enough to reach his hand. He'd done this before as Ace, though never with anyone as well-endowed as Lister – but at that moment, the only thing in his mind was the utter, absolute certainty that he needed Lister inside him. "Ever done this before?" he managed on groans and gasps. "Know what to do?"

"Not firsthand, no," Lister admitted, clutching at the bottle and Arn's wrist at the same time. "But I've read ... an' I'm a quick study."

Read? He'd read about this? When? "Why? I mean, when? I mean – oh, god, like that, don't be afraid – what made you curious?"

Lister had rolled himself back and up on his knees, reaching back to push at Rimmer's boots and trousers, shoving them off his feet with a satisfying clunk to the floor, and was drizzling a thin stream of oil over Rimmer's groin as the man asked. "Happened to see a video once," he shrugged, letting his fingers play around the base of Rimmer's second erection, through droplet-glistened hair, slightly darker than the auburn on Rimmer's head (but, he noted with fond amusement, close in texture). "Old girlfriend's idea. Couple of blokes goin' at it – just wondered about th' mechanics of it, is all."

Rimmer decided not to take offense at the admission of mere idle curiosity, even though his heart – or maybe it had been his groin; he wasn't too sure – had sent up a hope that it'd had something to do with him, after he'd left. "I- I should have asked; is this something you're ready for, or should we ... we ... _smeg,_ Lister, are you sure you haven't done this before?" Lister's hand was twisting and tugging at all the right spots as he worked his hand over Rimmer's shaft.

Lister snorted. "I come with my own practice kit, you know," he explained, twiddling and caressing and sliding in, and spending considerable time on this part of proceedings. "Should you turn over for this?" he finally asked, a bit dumbly, after drinking in Rimmer's writhing body and controlled breathing.

"Uh, ah, no, want to see you, Dave, want to watch you and feel you and hear you." His eyes fell partway closed, and he jerked on a jolt sent up from Lister's curling fingers. "Up, up, press your fingers up and rub-!" There was nothing articulate about the loud noise, somewhere between a yelp and a shout, that left the hologram as he was massaged from the inside. He shuddered and twitched, words simply falling from his mouth. "Up, up, smeg, yes, goddamn, Lister, don't – stop, wait, I want you, not just- AH!- n- not just your fingers. You'll like it, I promise, just please, Dave, don't torture me."

"How many times have _you_ done this?" Lister wanted to know, finally complying enough to get a hand on Rimmer's thigh and try to hold it in slippery fingers as he used his left hand to guide himself inside that long, lean body. He didn't care if he sounded petulant.

"Uh, dunno. F-fifteen, twenty? Wasn't like this though, nothing could ever be like this." It was true. He couldn't remember a single time where he'd been so out of control, out of his mind, so needy and focused and desperate for the person with him, because none of them had been his very own personal David Lister.

Far enough inside that he could lean forward again, Lister lowered himself almost nose-to-nose with Rimmer. "So ... there've been others?" he wondered, wondering why he should feel at all envious – after all, Ace hardly had the reputation of a monk.

"A- A few," Rimmer groaned, letting himself adjust. "Not many." He sucked in a deep breath, trying to keep enough brains to answer.

Adjusting at this angle was awkward, Lister noted in that small, absent part of his brain that had detached to make notes and critique him during this. It had been a long while since The Observer's services had been needed or wanted, and the far baser part of Lister actually engaging in sex with Rimmer was a bit nervous as to what it and Rimmer would come up with, between them, to complain about later. Still ... he had no intention of letting that ruin this for him, and with some slow hip-wriggling, was finally completely inside his partner. "This ... is new, to me," he admitted unnecessarily, again. There was nothing he could say that wouldn't sound stupid or trite or revelatory, but he said it anyway in the manner of all new lovers trying to express mind-blowing concepts. "It's ... tight," he finally said, eyes closed, trying to breathe as his hands rested beneath Rimmer's shoulders, digging into them tightly. "I mean – fuck, you're so fucking tight, Arn ..."

Rimmer gave a strained half-chuckle as he shifted his programming, rearranging his insides to be a bit more comfortable. "Told you, Listy. Not-not many. I'm usually on – nngh- on your end of things." He reached up, petting Lister's face a bit sloppily, but with affection. He didn't want the control this time, didn't need it. He didn't have to hide anything from Lister, didn't have to be anyone but himself, and for once, he could allow himself to be the hedonistic one and wallow in sensation. He wriggled his bottom, feeling the soft scrape of coarse hair on his skin, and the incredibly amazing pressure from the inside. "M-move with me, Dave," he nearly whimpered, trying to find some friction, but only found himself able to rock with the warm, solid mass of the man above him. "Slow first; we'll work up to it."

 _I don't know if I can DO slow,_ Lister thought, between the pressure and incredible need centered at the point of penetration between them. Then he remembered that one of the things he was very good at was sex; there was an art to lovemaking, a slowness and system that was more rewarding than having it off within five minutes. He just had to concentrate. Moving himself forward a little, he removed his hands from Rimmer's shoulders and placed them down on the bed, balancing on his forearms. Here, he could pull out, controlling the distance, and then slide back in. The first few times were difficult – not the least of which owed to Rimmer arching and moaning his approval on each pull – but the oil was warming and spreading with each slow thrust, and eventually it became a smoother motion as they wrestled around their clumsiness and found a mutually agreeable back-and-forth. "Like that?" he asked, trying not to gasp too noisily.

A low noise left Rimmer that he intended to be positive, but for all he knew, it could have sounded like a curse as his body shook in its motions. He brought his hands up to slide and smooth over Lister's skin, craving the contact even though he understood why the man had to hover, and bent his knees, balancing the balls of his feet on the cot. He wanted to feel Lister's hips slide against his legs, and it seemed to increase the pressure on him from the inside.

With all his guards, walls, curtains, and vault doors eradicated, there was no longer any doubt in what was left of Rimmer's mind that he was in love, and it warmed him even as it worried him.

"I- Christ, I don't know-" Lister tried to angle down and kiss him, his concentration shot as his hips rocked faster. With Rimmer lifting up, pushing back, he was losing his balance – they rolled to their sides, facing one another, Rimmer's leg thrown over his hip. Still able to thrust, now he could reach that mouth, and he used one hand to seize the back of Rimmer's neck and hold him still as he kissed the man hard. Lister guided his left hand between them and wrapped his fingers around Rimmer's neglected second erection. "Finally," he whispered between hotly-parted lips, licking into that mouth.

"God, Dave," Rimmer muttered between licking and kissing and nipping imprecisely, "Smeg it all, you're so damn good. Thought you didn't know- AHH! Twist, twist just a lit-" He broke off on an inarticulate cry as Lister found the right angle, sliding and bumping perfectly. Praises and curses and Lister's name fell from his lips as he jerked without coordination, the leg over the other man's hip pulling in forcefully. "Now, Dave, harder, more, please, _please!_ "

He was having a cardiac episode, he was sure of it. Lister's heart had never hammered so bloody hard, his pulse had never screamed through his ears like this; he inhaled raggedly, rapidly several times, the smell of body-heated soap residue and sweat steaming off both of their bodies. He licked Rimmer's cheek, then his jaw as he fisted his cock more rapidly, knowing it was mostly simulated taste and not caring. "You taste amazing," he groaned, lapping and kissing along Rimmer's arched throat. "I'm not goin' before you." He slowed his thrusts and concentrated on the other man's orgasm. "Come for me, Arn ... 's it, come, come, now ..." He struggled to keep his tone low, just this side of a growl.

Rimmer was about to comment, gurgle something about how he felt teetering on the edge when Lister's teeth found his skin. It wasn't rough, barely a scrape and a love bite, but it was all that Rimmer's overstimulated nerves needed to send him over, shuddering and squeezing, nonsense spilling from his mouth as his mind blanked out. It was almost like being hit with an EMP, but no electrical jolt had ever, _could_ ever have felt this amazing.

Rimmer's jerking body squeezed Lister, and it was all he could genuinely do not to explode right then. He gritted his teeth as he focused once again and then managed to get Rimmer on his back. Relieved, Lister gave himself permission to plow hard and fast into the man, bringing an end to the torment he'd been fighting for several minutes. He shouted a few syllables of something he couldn't identify, though he did remember moaning "Rimmer ... oh smeg, Arn, touch me, yeah," as he felt those long, strong fingers on his lower back, then his ass, pulling him in just as his cock pulsed for the first time. He pushed his face into Rimmer's neck, bracing himself as he thrust several more times, no more articulate than helpless grunts of pleasure as those arms squeezed him and a tongue swirled around his too-sensitive right ear. He'd never been without words, really, during sex – not up to now, anyway.

Rimmer clung to him. He slid his temple lazily over Lister's, fingers tracing through the tiny pools of sweat on the man's back, both of them breathing incredibly hard. He had been sure his light-bee would have exploded or shorted out, or blown a circuit at the very least, but it only thrummed in a faster, thicker pulsing that mimicked a human heartbeat. They lay exhausted for several minutes before Lister slid off to the side, allowing the hologram to curl around him.

"I know you're probably going to fall asleep," Rimmer yawned, "I am, too." He nuzzled into the pillow and tightened his grip. "But if we could pass out like this, you'd make me a very happy person."

"Not sure ... that I've ever seen you 'very happy.'" Lister mentally examined how he felt about the bundle of oversized neurotic space hero warm in his arms and realized he wanted to know how it felt to sleep with Arn. Besides, no girlfriend had ever been understanding about his penchant for nodding off after lovemaking. "Hell, 'f that's all 't takes," he mumbled against Rimmer's nose. "Not 'zactly a hardship for me."


	17. “Someone to Watch Over You”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace Rimmer may have waited too long to go home again, but with some help, he might just get the happy ending none of his predecessors did. Set in and after Series 8

_**Fic: Red Dwarf: Someone to Watch Over You**_  
Title: “Someone to Watch Over You”  
Writers: [](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/profile)[**metalkatt**](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/) and [](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/profile)[**veronica_rich**](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/)  


Waking at some indeterminate point later, Lister came to consciousness all of a sudden, not with the gradual, hazy warmth he usually favored. He thought about trying to be annoyed by the craving for a cigarette that had pried him out of deep sleep, but he shifted his head, feeling his cheek pull across warm skin, which reminded him of the warm skin under other bits and patches of his body, and decided “annoyed” didn’t cover his feelings at all.

He pulled back and up a little and looked down. Rimmer was out like a sack of dropped potatoes, snoring with a soft, slightly nasal whine that Lister had barely ever heard, always so enamored with his own pursuit of sleep that he was usually out within five minutes of head meeting pillow – or whatever other object it happened to land against. His face was relaxed, his mouth slightly open, only a trace of the tension that usually framed the expressions of Smeghead visible. Levering himself up on one elbow carefully, Lister managed to push himself to his knee and, as he swung the other foot over the other body to land softly on the floor, his accompanying hand successfully landed on the outer edge of the cot. He was straddling Arn without much touching him, and he paused to rest and shift his weight to get the remaining leg on the outside of the cot, examining the person beneath him.

At first glance – and second, fourth, forty-second, seventy-fourth, probably up to around five hundred superficial examinations or so, maybe – Arnold Rimmer had been just another skinny, pale guy, not particularly well formed or seemingly given much design consideration beyond “let’s stick this in this socket and make it swing ‘round.” It took time, but Lister was a master of attempting to try to figure out what made people tick (and he didn’t do too badly most of the time, if he said so himself). He’d eventually noticed the nondescript muddy eyes were actually a medium green with brown shading; upon extremely close and focused inspection just this evening, he’d seen it was actually an effect of green speckled with flecks of brown and multicolored amber. _Nice_ , he thought. The body was more muscular than it had seemed under an endless fashion show of uniforms and the rather dim lighting of _Red Dwarf_ and her subsidiary craft. (Actually, he considered, the uniforms had improved since Rimmer’s death, culminating in that blue sateen quilted number. Lister also realized belatedly that he’d noticed quite a number of times how the jackboots had set off his too-long legs and the soft blue trousers had been tighter than strictly necessary, cupping rounded buttocks in a surprisingly sensual display. He figured Rimmer for a closet hedonist.)

Giving himself a quick mental countdown, Lister bounced once, twice for momentum, and on the third, pulled his trapped leg clear of the cot and brought it around to its mate. He was still twisted sort of sideways up top, hands on either side of the sleeping hologram. He levered one up just long enough to grab the long dreadlocks he felt falling forward and toss them back, before landing the hand rather hard back on the bunk. Rimmer’s breathing snorted somewhat, but he didn’t awaken or appear disturbed by the movement. Lister resisted a chuckle and instead, grinned to himself and carefully stood the rest of the way up, eyes still on his bunkmate. He studied the man’s hair, which stuck out in all directions on his pillow; near as Lister could tell, the guy had waged lifelong war against his unmanageable curls, occasionally subduing them with a razor or gel, but ultimately being about as successful as you might expect from someone with a Napoleon complex who wasn’t actually Napoleon. It hadn’t gone much differently than his Space Corps career, in other words. He knew The Hair was a source of consternation and free cursing in front of the mirror, but Lister liked how it defied the conventions Rimmer had always imposed on the rest of his mind and body, finding chances to giddily escape its expectations and basically give its owner an “up yours” by frizzing and expanding to gravity-defying heights.

Lister bent and found his shorts, digging in the pocket for the package and withdrawing a stick of gum before shoving the box back in the pocket. He stood upright, unwrapping the gum slowly as he gave the sleeping, naked Rimmer another visual caress before padding to the hatch door. He ordered it to open quietly, and Fiona complied, leaving him to lean against the door frame and stare out into the dark landscape of Callisto 7, being struck steadily by warm raindrops.

It seemed to him that Arn’s hair might be the most representative thing of him – inside him, not the him he’d always tried to project to superiors in life, or even to equals after death, before the whole Ace thing. It was messy and disorderly and dodged attempts at control and managing, lashing out in all directions and looking generally wiry and scratchy … but upon being touched, was softer than imagined, holding to and snaking around that which came close enough to it, multihued and gorgeous and stubborn.

He stood there a good while, wondering if he was just feeling satisfied or if these feelings were something more – Kochanski more – when he looked back into the ship and noticed the clubs he'd brought along. He'd been hoping for a few holes, but that damnable rain had destroyed any chance of a game. Lister watched the rain for another moment or so, judging that it wasn't coming down so hard. The air was thin, but he'd taken his helmet off a couple of times earlier in the week and been able to get by for up to ninety minutes of working before putting it back on – if he was just walking around, expending normal energy and doing nothing more strenuous than chasing a little white ball ...

He grinned, spitting the too-quickly-spent gum out into the rain and climbing back inside the ship. His clothes were ... well, everywhere, really. He found the flowered Bermuda shorts on the narrow floor between the two bunks, his underwear on the empty bunk, and his largely-unstained Hawaiian shirt balled up beneath Rimmer's head as a makeshift pillow. He pulled on his lower gear, hopping around looking for socks, before he gave up and woke the other occupant.

"Rimmer – hey, Arn, man, wake up." He nudged his arm, which rolled off the edge of the bunk, hand smacking the floor ... and the guy kept snoring. "Rimmer! You're on my shirt. I think it's wet."

Rimmer grumbled and turned. "Sleep on the other cot, then, and I'll change the sheets."

Lister made a face. "Not from THAT." He retrieved his shirt, shook it out, and frowned over it before tugging it on. At least it was warm; curious, he tugged part up to his nose, and smiled. _Doesn't smell half bad, either._ "Are you going to wake up?" Rimmer yawned and shook his head – well, rolled it a bit – and nurfled back into the bed. Glancing up the cockpit corridor, he looked back to Rimmer, gauging distance. Turning sideways, he angled himself, raised his hand, and delivered a perfect hard slap to one firm buttock.

And then scurried like hell to see if anything had landed up front aside from Rimmer's own shirt.

"God, Spanners, not again. Doesn't your wife take care of you when I'm gone?" Rimmer bitched. "Go take the twins out running or something." He was perfectly well awake now, but loath to leave the cot.

"Well, _there’s_ a dimension you’re not jumping to again." Instead of throwing the shirt on the hologram, he sauntered back, stretching it out and rolling it up, whipping its length between his hands. At the correct distance, he stopped, judged, and let fly with a CRACK! that snapped Rimmer's ass once again.

"Don't forget to get the other side, so they're equally red." One of the things Rimmer loved was sleeping in. At the moment, he was weighing whether the affection he felt for Lister was stronger than his love of somnolence.

"Get. UP!" Lister exaggerated his normal accent, leaning over the prone figure. "C'mon, man. We didn't get in any golf today, and th' weather's ideal. You can have Fiona crank up the searchlights on this baby and we'll have a makeshift green-" He remembered how clay-ey that part of the landscape was. "-Red, for an hour or two!" He looked around. "Do you remember where my socks got off to? Or my shoes?"

Rimmer pressed his face into the bed and growled, then shifted to get his arms under him. He pushed himself up to sit on his knees, able to feel his hair sticking up in every conceivable direction. "Lister, why do you have to sneeze on a sweet and tender new love? Your socks ran off to get away from your feet. I'm sure they eloped with your shoes."

“Ergg. I forgot what a cranky-anus you are if you have to get up before ten." Lister was still searching for his footwear, when he happened to glance beyond Rimmer. "HA!" He leaned over and reached between the mattress and wall, just around Rimmer's far side, and pulled out two half-damp black socks. He held them up near Rimmer, who made a face, then Lister took pity and rewarded him with a quick kiss before straightening up and turning to sit down and pull them on. "My boots can't be far behind."

"Sorry, guys," Rimmer sighed, scrubbing the heels of his hands over his face. "I tried to cover for you, but you didn't get off the ship. Souls you may have, but you’re a bit short on brains."

"Nah, only the shoes have soles." He mugged and lifted his eyebrows comically at Rimmer.

"Whatever. It's too early for philosophy." He yawned massively, trying to wake his brain up. There were reasons why he often stayed awake too long during the crucial parts of missions. "What is it you wanted to do again that requires clothes?"

"We're going golfing." He gestured toward Rimmer's body. "C'mon and scare up something appropriate. Naked golf isn't exactly comfortable." He paused. "Although, you too might get lucky on the ninth green if you play your cards right ..."

Rimmer shook his head. "The sand gets everywhere. All the cracks." He let out another irked noise. "All right, let me get some tea and get dressed, and I'll meet you out there. You want anything to drink?"

"Tea?" He snorted. "I brought lager, Arn. _That_ is a golfing drink."

"I need a wakeup drink, Lister. I don't see why you're so smegging bouncy; for both of us, waking up is like trying to lift a million-ton weight, and you know it."

“Yeah, but this isn’t morning. Not technically yet.” Scooting closer, he snaked an arm around Rimmer's waist and pulled him close, nibbling at the corner of his lips and making the effort to brush his nose back and forth alongside the other's. He waited several seconds, then kissed him, slowly and deliberately, his hand splayed against the small of Rimmer's back. When he broke it, he stayed in place and whispered in a rasp, "Up yet?"

"Mmm, in a manner of speaking, but not quite how you meant it." Rimmer's gaze was open and affectionate, the webs of sleep still enshrouding his brain. "I promise, Lister; no welshing. I'll be there in a couple minutes."

"Better." Lister released him and stood, absently reaching out and brushing back some of Rimmer's more vertical hair, patting it down a bit – just as he spotted his boots sitting neatly back at the foot of the clubs bag. "There you guys are," he muttered, heading back to pull them on.

Rimmer waited for him get out of the way, then stood, scratching at his stomach. He punched in an order for some tea, and flipped off the viewscreen when he thought he heard a feminine giggle emanate from the speakers. He decided to forgo even a hologrammatic shower and called up what he considered his "goof-off clothes," which consisted of a pair of knee-length khaki shorts, hiking boots with comfortable socks, and a red t-shirt he had designed one night when he'd been extremely bored. He picked up the tea and sipped at it – black with honey, just how he liked it – and headed out, boots clanking softly on the steps.

Lister was half under the overhang of the ship, holding a five-iron and doing a few warm-up exercises that mostly involved bending and wiggling his butt while trying to figure out how to swing a club without ramming it into the ground and sending a shock wave up his shoulders. When he heard a noise behind him, he turned and raised his eyebrows at Rimmer, dressed much like he'd been after his first go-round with the polymorph. He recognized the silkscreen of the _Dwarf_ on the front of the shirt, with a large white "Z" against the red material.

When Rimmer walked over and picked up the bag of clubs, turning his back, Lister squinted and read aloud from the back: "Freak Right Out, Scream and Beg/Z-Shift Does Not Give a Smeg." Tugging his deerstalker on tighter, he snorted a laugh, shaking his head. "Where," he asked, "did you come up with THAT?"

Rimmer contemplated the irons. "I was bored one night, and thought it fit a bit better than the old slogan."

He was still chuckling. "That's brilliant. Since when did you get a sense of humor, anyway? You'd have had an apoplectic fit if one of the guys had come in with something like that during your morning briefings."

"At one point, yeah." He drained the drink, counting on the caffeine to hit his system fairly soon. "So, where are our goals, again? It's not like Kryten's made us a course this time."

"Goals?" Lister screwed up his expression as he thought about that, then shrugged. "Hit the ball." He walked over and picked up the six-pack of Leopard Lager, noticing Rimmer had the wheeled bag in hand. "Pick out things to try to hit as we go along. That sort of thing. Not so much a game of score as a practice course."

Rimmer shrugged; it sounded fine to him. He pointed out a tree a few hundred yards down, and set his tee in the ground. He disengaged all targeting systems, but kept his stance good. The club cut the air with a swish, giving the ball a satisfying thunk. The ball landed to the left and far short of the tree he chose, and he pursed his lips in thought as he stepped aside for Lister.

His own stance left a lot to be desired, but Lister stepped up anyway. First, he made sure his tee was set firmly; then he balanced the ball on top. Finally, he took a wide stance, wound up a few times to get ready, and eyed the ball. He carefully pulled back, rotating his upper body, keeping his eyes on the ball – and let fly.

-Completely missing the ball, hitting the ground, and sending a shock wave up through his shoulders. "SMEG!" he hollered, waving the club aloft as he glared at the tiny white sphere.

Rimmer stepped up behind him, touching his shoulders before sliding hands down onto the shorter man's arms. "Here, let me show you." He fit himself up to Lister's back, leaning over a bit to put his hands over smaller ones. "Grip it like this. Not too firm, not too loose, just like you're about to have a good pull." He knocked Lister's ankles together with the insteps of his boots, gentle nudges to draw him up more. "You want to feel a little loose in the hips, like you're about to make a pool shot. In fact, think about this like you're playing pool in three dimensions. The club is your cue, and the tree is your target."

"So why didn't you hit it, then?" He relaxed into the hold, turning his head, which put his face within an inch or two of his instructor's.

"I turned off my targeting systems. It wouldn't be any fun if I hit every single mark, and you didn't hit any." Rimmer tilted his head to look at Lister's ... well, eye, from the position they were in, and he dropped a brief kiss on that round cheek. "Come on; you can do it."

"Oi." Lister sniffed in mock-offense, shrugging his shoulders to get Rimmer to step back. "Targeting systems ... taking pity on me ... I can do this, just fine." He went slower this time, didn't exaggerate his movements as much, and managed to hit the ball quite well – even if it was a slice that went far of its intended mark. "Not so bad," he told his companion as he turned, swaggering to the bag to drop his iron inside, and bending over to pick up the six-pack. He pulled off a can and held it toward Rimmer in silent offer.

"Not just yet," Rimmer deferred. "I'll fall back asleep." He stepped up for his turn, readjusting his own posture. The shot was far closer this time, both in distance and angle. "Yes, targeting systems. And, it's not pity. It's letting myself be human instead of a technical simulant."

"The only thing you are is a complete smeghead, as always," Lister snapped. "You started life as a human, and you're self-aware and sentient, capable of growth and decision-making. You're human."

"I said technical. I have enough upgrades that I fall under the category. Take your damn shot, unless you need to get 'pished' first."

"Looks like I'm already doing a good enough job of mishing as it is." He waited until Rimmer had rolled his eyes while he set up a new tee and ball, then blew him a kiss and turned his back, hips wiggling in preparation for a second swing.

The rain had tapered off somewhat, but was still coming down steadily, soaking them as they played. They moved every so often to find a new target, and Lister was intrigued to find that, the more he drank, the straighter and truer his shots indeed became. Rimmer shook his head. "This explains your nickname," he snorted; as Lister got better, he turned up his own guidance, keeping pace.

"Which one?"

"The only one I know of is 'Cinzano Bianco Lister.' Are there others I should know about?"

"Maybe." He smiled innocently. "I might even tell you, one at a time, for your birthdays."

"I get two a year," Rimmer insisted. "Birthday and deathday."

"No, on your deathday, you get a song. Performed by yours truly on the guitar."

"Or, you could just grind my ears into a bloody pulp. It'd be the same result."

"Are you saying you don't _like_ my playing?"

"No, I'm saying that your playing is hideous enough to be used in satanic rituals to call forth demons from hell. This is why you have to keep it to those soundproof officers' quarters, so we don't have to risk an otic rupture."

"You're cruel." Lister said it without heat, and hit his next ball, hitting the narrow rock formation he'd chosen, dead on.

"Nice shot," Rimmer complimented. He yawned, looking sheepish when Lister snapped a glare at him. "Sorry. I always ended up sleeping through my morning classes."

"Yawning at the bum of the guy you're shagging is usually bad form, just so you're aware," he observed.

"What if it's yawning from the fantastic sex that's worn me out?" he asked as he moved forward for his turn.

“Pfffft." Lister knew a line, but tried not to look pleased, anyway. "You think that's tiring, you've got a lot of shocks coming your way before long, Arn."

"Well, I'll just have to take them as they co- as they arrive," he amended, lining up for his own shot. He reflected that he should work to improve his unaided aim, in case any of his systems were disrupted at some point.

They continued to play for some time. Lister never checked his watch, but he'd gone through three cans of lager and was lining up another difficult shot, blinking away rain clinging to his eyelashes, when he took a deep breath and didn't feel it go as deep as it should've. Holding his next breath, he concentrated, let swing, and was annoyed to see the ball go wide of the target. "Shit!" he muttered, turning to hand Rimmer the nine-iron. It wasn't horrible, but he could definitely feel the air was not filling his lungs like it had, and Rimmer was watching him with sudden worry. "I'll be fine to get back," he nodded toward _Wildfire_. "'Sides, I think I've done as much damage as I can to the local scenery for now." He watched the other man get things together in the golf bag, sidling toward the ship. Even muddy ... "I'm pretty sure, in fact, that I can beat you back to the ship," he wagered, a glint in his eye.

Rimmer shook his head. "Please don't try. I don't want to have to haul you and the clubs." He was only half-joking; if Lister lost his breath, the golf clubs would become effectively nonexistent in his panic.

"Oi, you sound like my grandma. Maybe you're just worried six inches of leg won't make up for the clubs you have to carry, even with the super-strength?" He moved backwards toward the ship, taking careful steps, grinning.

"No, I'm worried about you passing out and becoming insensate as your heart explodes from lack of oxygen. Don't do that to me, Lister, not now."

He waited for Rimmer to catch up. "You're a smooth talker, definitely, Ace." He caught a fistful of Rimmer's t-shirt and tugged him down for a kiss, which soon went into two and rapidly slid into three. He was pretty sure there was air to be temporarily gleaned from those hard-light lungs.

Rimmer made a note to try to find a way to break oxygen out of carbon dioxide as they kissed – then shifted down, got his shoulder under Lister's midsection, and hoisted the shorter man off his feet. "We can resume when we get you back in better oxygen saturation," he insisted, walking forward with clubs and human.

One minute he'd been sucking some pretty good face with Rimmer, and the next, he was dangling over the guy's broad shoulder like shifting potatoes. He nearly protested, until he realized he had a prime view of that ridiculously fine backside; if he hadn't had to balance himself with his hands by clutching at Rimmer's shirt, he would've made a serious grab for it. He felt like he should protest, at least a little. "What the shit is this?" he called out.

"Well, if I were to make it, I'd hope for pure cotton. Nice and soft that way," he noised, referring to the shirt Lister was holding.

It wasn't long before Lister saw the ship's searchlights bouncing in front of him, which meant they were approaching the hatch on the underside. "Open up, darling," he heard Rimmer call up at the _Wildfire._

"You gonna put me down?" he wondered, as he heard the hatch swing down.

Rimmer set Lister on his feet inside, turning to give him a soft peck. "Close the door, sweetheart, and up the oxygen saturation to thirty percent." He tucked the clubs away as the ship complied, then turned. "I wish I could apologize for the indignity, but I quite enjoyed feeling you squirm up there.”

"Oh, I get it. You like bein' in control, don't you?" Lister carefully made sure his accusatory edge was playful, not up to their usual angry debate standards.

"Sometimes," he admitted. "You told me about my Low self; does this really surprise you that much?"

"Probably not." He didn't want to talk about Lows and Highs and whatever psychology or philosophy governed them. Rimmer's hair flattened to his head in loose, dark waves that he knew would dry into thick little strawberry-brunet curls. Water clung to his eyelashes and skin, raindrops dotting his face and ears; his thin t-shirt was molded to solid, meaty shoulders and pectorals. He advanced, single-minded, pleased to see Rimmer step back until his back was pressed against some flat surface. Lister didn't stop, not until he was pressed against the other man, his thigh nestled between his knees. He reached down to take Rimmer's hand, and wrapped his fingers loosely around his wrist. "Not much in the mood for conversation, I find ..."

Rimmer let out a soft noise at the press of thigh, and his eyes fell halfway closed as he rocked forward. "No?" he managed, voice thickening.

Lister reached up and pulled off his hat, tossing it behind him somewhere. "No." His other hand, he slid beneath Rimmer’s holo-shirt, feeling cool, wet skin warm beneath his fingers.

Rimmer dipped his chin, managing a sloe-eyed glance down at Lister. "What do you want to do, then?"

He tilted his face up. "Refit and repaint the ship, you dolt," he half-growled.

Rimmer shook his head. "Don't wanna." His abdomen shivered at the touch, and he realized that his pull toward Lister was just as strong, if not stronger, as the aphrodisiac of being wanted as Ace.

"Are you sure?" His thumb stroked a small wristbone, while he moved his other hand higher, fingers brushing a nipple. "Could really get in under the hood ... tune up a lot of things. Smooth out some frayed belts and pistons ..."

Rimmer's jaw slackened, and his breath hitched in as Lister started stoking his nerves. "Nn-nn," he negated, wanting Lister to stay right where he was, and not go haring off into the engines.

"No?" Lister teased. "You don't want me under your hood?" He withdrew his hand, tugging at the bottom of the t-shirt. "Get rid of this," he said, shrugging out of his own shirt.

Rimmer complied, pulling the fabric off slowly. As he let it fall from his hand, it turned to photon sparkles on its way to the floor. "Oh, _mine_ ," he noised, eyes still stuck on Lister's.

Reaching up, he cupped the side of Rimmer's neck, rubbing briefly as he tilted his head into it. He slid his fingers behind the nape of his neck and pressed against him. "Tell me why you keep staring at my eyes," he asked, voice low and calm.

"They're so dark." Rimmer blinked at him. "This sort of thick dark- well, dark-chocolate brown. I don't care if that sounds stupid. And they're expressive; all your feelings show up in your eyes." He couldn't look away from those eyes pinning him in place, and his breath rose in short pants as he waited for the man's next move.

When he tugged, Arn came down into his arms, submitting readily to lips and tongue and body. Lister turned them away from the wall and toward the bunk, where they tumbled in a loose tangle of limbs. Muffled grunts and curses, a few yelps as elbows and knees met muscle and bone rather than soft padding, eventually gave way to more pleasant, softer noises, after they'd managed to shimmy off and disappear the rest of their clothes and boots. Lister still had one sock on, but barely noticed, intent on the lightly trembling body beneath him. "What's the matter?" he wanted to know, speaking against Rimmer's forehead before dropping his head back to lick water from the bridge of his nose.

"When I was only soft-light, the only part that really bothered me was not being able to touch things." He shivered, trying to process sensation. "I've never had much human contact other than being beaten up, not even when I was younger. I'm really smegging sensitive to touch because of it. It's even stronger with you. My brain keeps flying out the airlock."

"I thought Ace got all kinds of action; I mean, a hundred and twenty years' worth? I'd have figured you were dulled to it by now, if anything."

"I've been one of the less promiscuous Aces," he admitted. "Not that that's saying much, given that we're talking about a string of men with less brains than balls …"


	18. “Someone to Watch Over You”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace Rimmer may have waited too long to go home again, but with some help, he might just get the happy ending none of his predecessors did. Set in and after Series 8

_**Fic: Red Dwarf: Someone to Watch Over You**_  
Title: “Someone to Watch Over You”  
Writers: [](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/profile)[**metalkatt**](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/) and [](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/profile)[**veronica_rich**](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/)  


  


Graveyard shift in _Starbug's_ cockpit was fairly boring, though practically indiscernible from morning shift, since the view almost never changed. The only real difference was a slight dimming of the cabin lights, which usually served to make Lister even drowsier than the watch warranted, as late shifts had done to humans for thousands of millennia. Tonight, however, he leaned on his elbow against the console, chin in his hand, eyes defocused somewhere in the distance even as his brain greedily fondled and picked through the events of the last few nights for the good bits to keep him awake.

Back in the kitchen, Rimmer poured the hot water into two cups, frowning at the paltry excuse for teabags. They contained nothing but tea dust, the castoffs and leftovers of leaves that went into fine quality beverages three million years too long ago. He wondered if he'd ever find a planet with something resembling a camellia sinensis plant on it. A glob of something Kryten had insisted was honey went into each, and he gave them both a stir with a clean spoon. He figured he might as well keep the little git company ... though, he fought down a smile at the offhand remark he'd made about getting busy in the cockpit yesterday morning, when the two of them and the Cat had boarded _Starbug_ to check out yet another potential planetoid for edible plants. All Lister was going to get tonight was something resembling tea, and some conversation.

Lister heard a noise somewhere behind and sat up straighter, trying to school his face into something resembling wakefulness. Swiveling to the left, he looked up just in time to see Rimmer setting a steaming mug on the console before taking the copilot's seat. Without conscious effort, he felt his cherubic face widen even more into a smile, as he reached for the heat of the cup and inhaled. "Mmmmm," he shut his eyes and pretending. "Rose hips and Earl Grey ..." he imagined.

"Don't tease me, Lister. It's not considerate to my poor taste buds." Rimmer leaned back, uncomfortable in the seat. They had each had their own chairs that had become molded to their bodies over time, but this wasn't their original _Starbug_ , and these chairs weren't their original chairs. He shifted, trying to find some semblance of the Cat's body print in the cushions into which he could settle.

"Don't you have any imagination, Rimmer? Pretend that's what you wan' it to be." He inhaled again, then opened his eyes to look across at his volunteer copilot. "Or somethin' else ... as I recall, your favorite was chamomile and mint."

"Every time I try pretending that something tastes like something else, all I can see behind my eyelids is you snarfing down on that dog food." He wrinkled his nose. "I don't think I'll ever be able to forget that image."

"Hey, survival is survival. You rather I die of starvation?"

"No," he replied after a sip. It was definitely ... some sort of dusty leafy flavor. "But, it's human nature to feel sick when you see someone else eating something gross."

"It's usually human nature to _get_ sick when you have to eat the crap in question," Lister pointed out, leaning back and extending his legs, raising them to the console and crossing his ankles.

"Yes, I know. It's an evolutionary form of nonverbal communication. If it makes you sick to look at it, it'll make you sick to eat it ... though, I suppose that doesn't wholly apply with you." Another sip. "After all, you turn green just looking at vegetables, and they're what’s good for you."

Trying not to smirk, Lister casually tapped a readout, pretending to check something. "I've swallowed lots of things you wouldn't think should go right down," he hummed.

"Yes, but I don't think that particular garnish can be bottled for use on your salads." Even as much as fifty years ago, Rimmer would have found the notion of such an item appalling, but somehow, the absurd had become more amusing than exasperating.

Lister sipped, letting it go. "What're you doing up, anyway?" he wondered conversationally. "Not that I'm complaining."

"Couldn't sleep. Same problem I had when I first started aboard the _Wildfire_. I've gotten so used to the somnolent grunts and wheezes of the asthmatic hippo I had of a bunkmate, that it's hard to sleep in the quiet."

"I don't guess I've gotten any better since, have I?" They'd been sleeping together the last couple of weeks since the storm on Callisto 7, and though he tried to stay awake longer than Rimmer, the fact was he guessed the hologram's presence and their new way of relating to one another had relaxed him to the point of falling asleep first.

"Not really. If it's an allergy, it's likely not something we can treat. If it's something more serious, like that thing you get where you quit breathing for bits of time when you sleep, we may have to go hunting for a derelict with medical equipment." He hoped it weren't something that drastic, and instead related to problems on the inside of Lister's nose. After all, who could sleep easily knowing they could wake up at any moment just to stare down Darth Vader in his mask?

"I really think it's just me, Arn," he said with a touch of amusement. "Somethin' you'll have to get used to more than usual." He paused, fixing his eyes on the other man, willing him to look over so he could see those expressive eyes. "I hope, anyway."

"The ship's computer thought I was insane – more insane than she'd first reckoned – when I asked her to find some stock audio files of someone snoring to put me to sleep. I think it was about then that she realized that I wasn't like any other Ace she'd met, and when I asked her to drop the cooing act, that was when she decided she liked me, despite it all." He glanced over, meeting Lister's earnest eyes. "It was a very sobering thought to feel like the first person to actually give a damn about me was a computer who cared because I told her not to." He caught the pain in Lister's gaze, and set down his mug. "That's not a criticism of you, it's ... well, I didn't know then, did I? I'm not sure that either of us really did. I never knew whether any of you liked me or hated me or somewhere in between."

Lister knew he had to answer carefully. "That's not the case," he spoke softly, shaking his head. "You may always be a smeghead, but you're not just hangin' out there all by yourself."

"I know that now, and ... I'm- Well, I'm grateful. It's nice to know that someone likes me for me, and not for what I can do to or for them."

"Rimmer, hell, man – that was before now, y' know."

Rimmer nodded, picking up his cup. "I know now," he reiterated. "Hopefully, so do you."

Conversation stalled out for a while as they sat companionably, quietly, drinking tea and alternating between staring out the front viewport and, more often than not, at one another. Rimmer pursed his lips, wondering how to breach the question he'd been wanting to ask for more than two months. "Listy ... are you angry with me at all? For coming back and not telling you who I was until everything went to smeg?" He'd worried about this off and on, wondered how much of the 'new' friendship they'd cultivated while in prison was a reflection of them as they were, or them as Lister wanted them to be.

He tilted his head back and thought it over. "Nah, man. Sort of serves me right, doesn't it? For makin' you think I didn't want you around here, the whole Ace thing."

"Well, we had been together, on one ship or another, for a long time. Far longer than you've ever kept a steady girlfriend. After so many years of it, I wondered if you kicked me out because you were getting too worried about having someone around and in your space that long."

"Someone? No. You?" He weighed honesty, decided Rimmer could handle it. "Yeah, kind of. You're a lot to take in, and I don't just mean that in the good way." He winked when Rimmer glanced sidelong at him. "You've got this ... really intense, personality, that can rub even me the wrong way. Sort of how you feel about my socks."

"All I want you to do is wash them. If you'd wanted to wash me, you'd just had to ask."

"Ohhh, yeahhhh!" He raised both eyebrows at the suggestion pre-Ace Rimmer would've been tractable to his attentions. "Right gaggin' for it, you were. NOT."

Rimmer let out a chuckle, and took another drink of his tea. "Yes, I know I'm not the easiest person to get on with. I don't have to 'go' a bit barmy; I've been contentedly living there for quite awhile."

"But, see, you never acknowledged that before. That would've gone a long way toward making things okay, y'know," he assured Rimmer.

"I didn't want to be that way. If I were-" He fished around for the right words, setting his cup down, picking it back up, then setting it down again. "To the person I was then, if I'd admitted it, it would have meant they'd won. That there was something horrifically wrong with me beyond my being the dreamy, artistic one – complete black sheep. I didn't know then that it was all right to be different, to be me."

"So, what've you done toward remedying that?" When Rimmer looked over, he added, "You always did like to seem to draw, Arn; what are you doing to that end these days? Not like I saw any sketch pads or paintings aboard _Wildfire_ , or anything."

Rimmer sighed. "I ran out of paper, and my paints have all dried up. I was hoping to snag a few things from the _Dwarf_ to stock the _'Bug_ before we made our eventual, planned escape, but that never got to happen." He shrugged, frowning at his tepid, tea-tinted water. "If I'm lucky, we'll find at least some paper and pencils on a derelict at some point ... but, I don't have the ability to precision-control the time of the jumps. It's sort of like the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle. I can pick the time and be smeg-knows-where, or I can pick the place and be smeg-knows-when. I can't get both yet. I might end up back here hundreds of years too late like I did the other one."

Lister tried to assume a worldly air, not sound too worried. "You thinking of leaving?"

"No!" Rimmer was a little surprised himself at the speed and vehemence of his response, and he pressed his fingertips to his mouth as if he could take it back. "No, I don't want to go anywhere, not now I've finally made it back home. Not permanently. But I have the ship – might still _use_ her sometimes.”

Lister was pleased to hear it, and smiled accordingly, looking down into his tea as he swirled it, watching bits of dusty leaves move. "You know, back then, when we were all alive, you would've never consented to let go an inch, and this thing ... us ..." He pointed a finger at Rimmer and gestured between them. "Never would've happened. But the tea was also great back then." He drank, contemplating. "Just when you think maybe you've lost somethin' and miss it, sometimes you realize maybe it was just a trade up, eh?"

"What are you saying to me, Dave?" Rimmer swiveled a bit in his chair, cocking an eyebrow at the man beside him. "I had to make a cosmic choice, tea or sex?"

"No, you bloody thickheaded git, I'm saying I'M the one who traded up." He frowned sternly at Rimmer. "Maybe …"

Woodsy eyes blinked. "Was it worth it?"

Lister looked down into his mug again and took a deep breath, inhaling, closing his eyes over it. "Rose and earl ... rose and earl," he muttered, taking a drink and letting the sensation digest. His eyes blinked open. "I can imagine tea that isn't really here much more easily than I can let loose of you, if that's what you're asking."

Rimmer was flattered, but only said, “Maybe you won't have to forever. Maybe we'll come across something on a salvage, or to trade somewhere, sometime soon.”

"Three million years out into deep space, the whole smeggin' race gone, no other intelligent life than the GELFs, and you think you're gonna find tea leaves?"

"Hope springs eternal, Listy. There is the possibility of making tisane; people used to do it all the time. I'll just have to get that bog-bot to test some out the next time he finds a new plant to culture in his makeshift hydroponics bay." He glanced over the controls, unfamiliar to him as ever. The Cat would know them as well as Rimmer knew the _Wildfire's_ , but the time when he'd been on the _'Bug_ at first, he hadn't had the ability to so much as touch the controls, and after that, he'd made his place firmly at navigation.

"Okay, I'll grant the idea has merit, at least," Lister admitted. He dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward, reaching out to touch Rimmer's arm, run his fingertips along the quilted sateen. "You all right, man?"

"Just had a bit of a nightmare earlier, is all. Remembering those fat bastards we could have become – could still become, if we're not careful." He sighed, turning his arm over, curling his fingers up around the leather of Lister's jacket and giving his arm a squeeze. "Just makes me realize that I wouldn't want to trade this for all the tea in Ceylon, or all the dove pate ever creamed. I've- I've actually come to like myself, and the situation. If it happens much more, I'll be wondering if I've gone soft."

Lister snorted, not unkindly. "There's always gonna be somethin' for you to find to bitch about around here. Around me; about me. I'd think body snatchers had gotten t'you, otherwise." He tightened his fingers slightly on Rimmer's arm, so they were lightly clutching one another, each grasping the underside of a forearm.

"Well, let's face it, you are always going to be slobbier and more lax than I am, and I am always going to be more organized than you are. You know where all my buttons are, and you're going to gleefully jab at them, while I look for ways to poke yours with a sharp stick outside hitting distance. You're the only moron I've ever found who can set me from perfectly calm to nostril-flaring incensed in less time than it takes for the Cat do decide to preen himself."

"Except maybe for the Cat himself," Lister pointed out. He was feeling daring. Leaning forward some more, he crooked his free forefinger until Rimmer leaned close enough to kiss.

"Oh my GOD, you two are sick! Get out of my chair, Goalpost Head! I don't need you being depraved on it and wiping away all the coolness I'm trying to put back there. Ugh, it's going to reek of your idiocity now."

Rimmer felt the hiss of a spray can hit his lower back where his jacket rode up, but waited until his kiss was over before sitting up to face a livid Cat. "Do you realize what you've just done, you stupid moggy? You've just marked ME, claimed me as your own personal territory."

Lister let go slowly and leaned back into his chair, slumping down a little, fingers laced over his stomach as he grinned up at the Cat. "Honest, man, we're _trying_ to find you some lady feline company, but if you're that impatient ..." he trailed off, gesturing expansively at Rimmer.

They could have sworn that the Cat swiveled his ears more forward somehow as the remark sailed over his pompadour. "A woman? You've found a woman? Where is she? How much time do we have? Do we have enough water for my shower?"

"I thought you hated being wet," Rimmer huffed. "Kochanski said you certainly made enough of a racket when you all got stuck in that downpour."

"That was different! I didn't choose that water, didn't prepare myself for it to clean away the filth so my natural inner beauty could glow outward to make everyone's day that much better. That was evil water, sent by the sky-gods to ruin my suit and mess up my hair!”

"I'd say it had to be better than licking yourself – but you're a guy." Lister winked at the Cat, and was rewarded with a knowing, fangy smile. "Hey, you mind? We're tryin' to have some time, here. Something you needed?"

"I heard my name, and I was between snoozes. Thought I'd come in and see why my name'd be on your idiots' lips when all I wanted was a glass of milk."

Rimmer rolled his eyes. "Go get your damn Krispies, and go back to sleep."

"Not if you're going to be defiling my chair!"

A sigh. "You can choose one suit from my wardrobe if you just go the hell to bed!"

Cat blinked. "Any suit?"

"Within reason. There's a few I have to keep."

There was a pause as Cat thought this over, and Rimmer half expected to see steam rolling out from those pointed ears. "Goodnight! Don't get anything disgusting on my chair!" He was off like a shot, bounding in his particular little hoppy way toward the refrigerator.

They were quiet a while, and then Lister exhaled and spoke. "The great thing about cats," he observed slowly, "is as long as you pet them and keep them fed, they're pretty much content to let the world spin around them the way it will."

"I'm not sure I want to know what sort of petting you get up to with that animal. Might make me jealous." Rimmer pursed his lips thoughtfully, pretending to mull it. "Yes, I think it just might. I might have to get angry."

He eyed Rimmer sidelong, highly amused. "You're a possessive gimboid."

"Well, I do like my things; they are mine. I've either paid for them or stolen them in some way in that possession is nine-tenths of the law."

"Oh, I would LOVE to hear what I cost these days. Couple quid?"

"Don't sell yourself short; we know your base trading price is a replacement oxygen unit. Of course, now that you know how to do it both ways, you're probably more expensive."

"Do what both ways?"

A lewd grin and an eyebrow bounce answered for Rimmer. "You'd probably be more valuable to the pleasure traders that way, able to contribute your genetic material to new breeds, as well as take it up the back end from the master's favorite pet who wants a new toy."

"Pleasure traders, eh?" Lister rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "Though I imagine an indestructible, long-lived pleasure-gram might be even more valuable in the long run …"

"No, I'D be valuable as a laborer, given what stresses this form can withstand."

"Are you really as bloody strong as you purport to be? I mean, I've seen it to some extent, but not always what you natter on about." Unable not to touch, he reached out and plucked a piece of lint from the knee of Rimmer's soft blue trousers. "After all, I'd be a hell of a lot more injured right now if you were constantly havin' to control yourself to temper back so much, wouldn't I?"

A guilty look stole over Rimmer's face. "I cracked someone's rib when I was getting massage lessons, long time ago," he admitted. "It has something to do with compression of the photons that make up my body, they can all lock up rigid together and enable me to bear or exert large amounts of pressure. It took awhile to learn my limits – it's not like we ever did much that required more exertion than running, to be honest."

"So you were holdin' back, then? Or have been, I should say?"

“No, it's a conscious act to turn it on, now. Part of the benefit of being on my own so long is that I've learned how to activate and deactivate many of my options.

Lister rubbed that knee absently, enjoying the slide of velveteen on skin. "I have to say, I'm glad t' see the blue back on you," he said. "There's nothing else you look quite the same in, as this."

Rimmer looked down at himself. "It's not bad," he admitted. "It's a good shade."

Suggestively, Lister rubbed his hand up a couple of inches over Rimmer's thigh. “I admit, this all feels a tad one-sided,” Lister pouted.

"Can a man be blamed for enjoying himself? It's not often I get to hear what a sexpot I am, rather than what a walking hormone Ace is. Besides, I'm planning the script for payback once you get off shift."

Lister nodded. "Ah, yeah, 'cause really – what's sexier than a pudgy-faced baboon with short fingers and stomped-carpet hair?" He smirked, quoting back a mash of Rimmer's old insults.

"When you're in well-tailored clothes, Listy, you look far better than you can imagine. You remember the time with the Despair Squid? You looked magnificent in that suit, trim, confident, with your hair pulled into a queue, even despite that long coat that tried to hide you."

"Smeg off! I've lost weight, _miladdio_." He altered his accent to do a passable Rimmer, leaning back and lifting his shirt, patting his abdomen. "That's no lager-gut."

Rimmer reached out to press against the skin with his fingers, feeling the muscles under a small layer of padding. "No, it's not. It's quite a lovely stomach, there."

Lister looked at the hand on his bare stomach for a moment, then raised an eyebrow at Rimmer. "That's friendlier than I'm used to in the cockpit," he grinned. "Cat doesn't get that personal."

"Well, he doesn't have a vested interest in touching you, really," he pointed out, leaning back in his seat. "I do. My fingers get twitchy if I don't brush against you every once in awhile."

"Since when did you go from bein' such a touch-me-not to all this, then?" Lister leaned back, his seat still swiveled to face him, their knees nearly touching.

Rimmer pondered for a moment before speaking. "Touching was always a negative thing growing up. It was being bullied or beaten or stretched. We didn't do hugs and things like that. I haven't had anyone I trusted enough to let in far enough to enjoy the contact."

"Except for all those women you undoubtedly took back to your ship as Ace."

He knew that was going to come up. He'd been waiting for it. "They weren't ... they didn't touch _me_ , you know. They touched Ace. It's like a shell that surrounds me to keep the image out and the neuroses in. They didn't want a deep, meaningful relationship, they wanted to get laid." He shook his head, nostrils flaring as he let out a deep breath. "It sounds cliché and stereotypical and horrible, but they didn't mean anything. They wouldn't have wanted to. They wanted a piece of the legend, of the idea, and we've established that I am not an idea."

Lister eyed him, watched the way his expressions shifted, tumbled over each other before he settled on a calm one while talking. "No, you're a person," he agreed. Something occurred to him, then. "Wait – were they still all over you after you got rid of the wig?"

"Yes. I've had many people fixated on the curls."

"Really?" Lister tried not to smile. He'd told Rimmer several times over the years just to leave his hair the hell alone.

"I've had them smoothed, petted, pulled, yanked, brushed, and conditioned." Rimmer shrugged. "But, they're a hell of a lot less stifling than that damn wig."

Lister glanced up at Rimmer's auburn locks, once again waging war on gravity. "They're comfy and gorgeous, an' you know it," he said.

"I don't know if I'd say gorgeous, but they're much more comfortable, yes."

They drank their tea and watched the universe go by for a while, the only sounds in the cockpit the hum of the engines and very soft breathing, as well as the occasional squeak of a chair or brushing of fabric as a foot or arm shifted. Lister, at least, found he kept glancing over at Rimmer, watching the man's face in profile as he studied the stars – he wasn't conventionally handsome, or even man-pretty, but his nose and eyes and the way he pursed his lips was striking, and when then all relaxed, well. Maybe it was the kind of beautiful Lister had been missing. He leaned sideways a bit and reached for Rimmer's hand. When the hologram raised a curious eyebrow at him, he shrugged. "Gettin' twitchy, I guess."

Lister was rewarded with a smile that was half-smirk, and a knowing squeeze of fingers.


	19. “Someone to Watch Over You”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace Rimmer may have waited too long to go home again, but with some help, he might just get the happy ending none of his predecessors did. Set in and after Series 8

_**Fic: Red Dwarf: Someone to Watch Over You**_  
Title: “Someone to Watch Over You”  
Writers: [](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/profile)[**metalkatt**](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/) and [](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/profile)[**veronica_rich**](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/)  


They all watched Kryten twiddle his fingers, silent as the grave. Rimmer sighed and nudged Lister, flicking his eyes at Kryten in a silent request for the man to say something.

"So, erm, Kryt, what's the bad news?" Lister opened, trying to look nonthreatening.

"How did you know?" His blue eyes went wide; he'd thought he was doing a good job of hiding his nervousness.

"Because you're jitterier than a mouse who has to run through a field of sleeping cats if he wants to pee," Cat replied with a grumble.

The mechanoid sighed. "Well, since you already know it's bad … We're tremendously low on seeds, sirs, ma'am. And before you ask what difference that makes, you all need fresh food as well as tinned, to replace the nutrients that have leached out over time. I can use our current supplies to revitalize the stock, but that would take at least three years of constant cultivation in our new arboretum." He shook his head. "That's too long, and you would likely suffer from malnutrition."

Lister scratched his chin. "So – we'll have to do what we do for anything else we need: scavenge or trade."

"The only ones around here to trade with are the GELFs," Cat pointed out. "And you're sort of _persona non grata_ with them, leavin' your missus and all."

"Well, not all GELFs are the Kinitawawi," Rimmer pointed out. "We're quite far away from them, and given how long ago that was, in this dimension; even if we did run into them, I doubt anyone from that time will be alive."

Lister frowned and turned to him. "It was just a few years ago-" He stopped and shook his head. "Damn, I keep forgetting where we are. WHEN we are."

That drew a snerk. "Tell me about it," the hologram chuckled.

"So, the next GELF colony we come across, we follow Space Corps protocols and contact them for potential trading, then," Kochanski put in, thinking. "Except we're in deep space, and – well, it's not really like there're little villages and suburbs all over out here, is it?"

"Well, the GELFs have their own systems of behavior and politeness, ma'am," Kryten huffed nervously. "If we were to follow Space Corps regulations with them, it would be a great affront to their honor. Also, I haven't had access to a large number of dialects, which limits the number of potential trading partners even farther."

She made a sound, pursing her lips and chewing at a thumbnail as she thought it over. Then, she proved how she'd gotten to be a senior officer. "We can't control where _Red Dwarf_ goes, or how others come across us – but the _Wildfire_ can." She sat up straight. "We can cross dimensions to find the GELF traders we want. Can't we?" She directed this last to Rimmer.

"Yes ... but at the moment, I'm not going to jump across dimensions." He held up his hands to plea for silence when she began to protest. "The precision hopping we performed to get here was made possible through the combined brainpower of Holly and Nona, over the entire time we were in the Tank and beyond it, crunching numbers too big for any human to comprehend in order to arrive at the right where and when. If I go out and jump, I can choose the where, but not the when. I might come back ten years from now, or a thousand years ago. It's too complicated to jump if I want to stay in this same timeline."

"However, the calculations ARE possible," she pressed.

"If you'd like to wait eight to ten months, sure."

Kochanski looked vexed; Lister, who'd been cleaning something from underneath his fingernail and not looking up, spoke to their conversation rather than the way they were semi-glaring at one another. "Well, maybe that's a good wait period, then," he suggested. "Put the computers to work on it, and if we don't come across a promising option by then, make a jump." He finally looked up, and around at everyone. "I think it's about the only way."

Kryten nodded. "That sounds fair," he agreed. "I can work to grow and replant the seeds we have now, broaden their base as much as possible, and be careful not to harm them when I cull the fruits for food."

The Cat was nodding; even Holly on the conference room's monitor, who'd been oddly quiet, looked satisfied. Rimmer and Kochanski were giving Lister oddly similar looks, something he swore was between annoyance and curiosity. The Dubious Twins. "What? I have ideas all th' time." He flicked a piece of ... whatever, off from beneath his left thumbnail. "You sure you two didn't have the same parents?"

"She's not insane enough to be a Rimmer," the tall man snorted. "Stubborn enough, yes; insane enough, no."

"That is an excellent point, sir," Kryten remarked. "She has not blown up her own command yet. Of course, neither have you. Unless you count the drive plate on _Red Dwarf_ , and-" The mechanoid's rubbery lips drew up in horror at his own gaffe. "Oh dear. My tact program seems to have developed a feedback error." He sputtered, then lurched to his feet. "If you'll excuse me, I must run a self-diagnostic."

As he walked out, he could be heard muttering, "I knew I shouldn't have put on Spare Head Three before charging up last night."

Rimmer twisted his lips into a wry smile. "I don't count that anymore. That was because those idiots sent me to do something I didn't know how to do, and I was too scared to tell them I didn't."

Lister made a dismissive noise, working on his other hand. "I think we're all acquainted with the particulars, more'n we'd like to be, actually. Hollister was an under qualified smeghead – no matter what incarnation he took."

Rimmer shared a glance with Lister and snickered. "Dennis the Doughnut Boy."

"Metal-Head didn't say it too well, but I gotta wonder, bud, if you shouldn't sleep with one eye open, given Goalpost Head here could blow any minute," Cat piped up. He was cleaning his sleeve meticulously. "No offense, Fake-Monkey," he directed at Rimmer. "It's just that your brothers sounded less stable than a field of ponies with no fence."

"They also had bionic wetware in their heads. Father's business had gone under by the time I was old enough, and there wasn't enough money to fit me with experimental technology."

"Get out." Lister looked up. "Really? What, they got that iQuery hookup, then? Brutal."

"Before it was approved for general market use, yes." Rimmer remembered running around to help care for his brothers despite the way they'd abused him, them lying rather helpless in their beds, heads shaved and covered in stitches as their bodies quaked with rejection sickness. "Before the problems were ironed out." He shook his head. "It wasn't pretty. They spent an entire summer, when they had theirs done in turn, in bed, sick as hell, and pumped full of anti-rejection drugs as the bioware took hold not just in their brains, but their bodies as well."

"So is that how you got emancipated, then?" He'd always wondered what the Rimmers had done so very badly as parents that Arnold had been able to secure his freedom as young as fourteen, especially since his brothers had turned out to basically be smegging Charles Atlas and Einstein combined, in triplicate.

"If I'd used that as an excuse, they never would have made it into the Corps, nor the JMC." He shook his head. "I used school records of abuse, neglect, and malnutrition. They had just enough money, after the court costs, to make sure they kept John from being taken away."

Behind Rimmer, who was facing Lister, Kochanski drew her brows together, looking something between amused and horrified. Lister recognized the look. "I'm pretty sure he's not lying," he said to her over Rimmer's shoulder. "Ace was a lot more tactful, but he hinted at some of th' same treatment, th' little time we got to talk."

"My God," she said. "And I thought my parents were monsters because they wouldn't let me go to a co-ed high school."

Rimmer turned to look over his shoulder at her. "Oh, Kris, I went through smeg that would make you feel like an absolute princess in comparison."

"You're too late to do that." Lister laughed as Kochanski glared at him. "That WAS that the nickname _Dave_ had for you, isn't it?"

"Go bite a toenail," she snapped. "Just because some of us don't have our preferred person to curl up with at night-" She snapped her fingers at Cat, cutting him off mid-verbal preen. "For the fiftieth time, I am NOT bunking with you, or whatever other euphemism you have for it."

Rimmer rolled his eyes. "Well, the ships are already about three months into calculating how to get you home." He raised an eyebrow at her surprised gaze. "Figured it would be best to have the option ready in case you ever wanted it. They'll have to be put aside for them to calculate jumps for trading, but it would be perhaps another year, eighteen months all total before you have the option to leave."

"Why is it only eight months for food, but almost two years for me?" She waved a hand. "That – it's not as bitchy as I made it sound, all right? But why should it make a difference?"

"Because they can't do two at once. They're powerful, especially when together, but they're not omnipotent."

Cat finally looked up. "You mean, Fiona can't do everything."

Holly huffed on the viewscreen, and the face Fiona had chosen for herself appeared next to him. "You'll be better when I've figured out exactly what needs repaired inside your central system, and can give Dave detailed instructions on what to do,” she smoothly reassured them.

"Still no call to be insulting," Holly grumped.

"What is this, Let's Piss Off Our Mates Day?" Lister had to agree.

"A good, healthy argument can clear the air every once in awhile," Fiona intoned solemnly.

Holly’s head swiveled toward hers. "Keep out of the psychology servers, and work on getting things fixed, missy."

"Sure thing, Grandpa." She winked at Holly, who rolled his eyes in exasperation.

Lister coughed. "I'd say Smeghead and I had the healthiest cabin in the JMC, then, wouldn't you?" He directed this at Rimmer, who only answered, “In some ways, yes.”

As they dispersed, Rimmer made sure to follow Lister until they were out of everyone else's range, and then drew him into a small unassigned cabin to pin him in a tight, almost clinging hug. "I really don't want to do this, Lister," he admitted. "Jumping when we had everyone together was fine, but doing it like this ... what if the calculations are wrong?"

"Hey, guy, whoa." He wrapped his arms around Rimmer. "Look, Fiona did the last ones right – right? With Holly?" He felt a nod against the side of his head. "So we don't jump anywhere unless they absolutely know where they're sendin' us and where we'll end up."

"That's the problem – the 'we.' Fiona can handle three people maximum, if we're looking at comfort – me in the pilot's chair, and one person on each cot, and even that's going to be cramped. I just got to my family again; I'm more than a little nervous about the thought of possibly being cut off from everyone."

For the first time, Lister began to understand he wasn't the only thing that had brought Rimmer back into their lives. "Well, we all fit in there once, right?" He couldn't think of any other solution, immediately, but hoped this might change in the coming months. "And if you're takin' Kris home, we'd have one less person on the way back ..." He trailed off, realizing that the prospect of losing her was similar to what Rimmer might be feeling right now. "We've got time to try to work it out, Arn; really."

He took a deep breath, but made no move to let go. "Normally when I freak out like this, I do it on my own, when everything's said and done, and nobody's around to witness it. I'm not as much Ace as I like people to think."

Turning to rub his nose in Rimmer's hair, Lister murmured, "Yeah, I know. I manage to love you anyway. It's a real hardship." He stroked Arn's back with one splayed hand, the other braced firmly just under the nape of his neck. Rimmer took comfort from Lister's embrace, letting the warmth leach in. It was such a relief to finally have someone to confide in, someone he could trust to see what was under the Ace shell – someone who knew what was there before, and understood what it was to have bits of him burned away by time and trials.

They lost track of time as they more or less leaned against one another in the small cabin they'd ducked into. Lister’s only extra movement for several moments was to pull back just enough to let Rimmer tilt his head down to rest his right temple against Lister's, and then to put both hands to work very slowly kneading up the other man's back, then down, repetitively. Breath by breath, Rimmer felt his panic subside, the worry taking up residence in the back of his mind instead of the forefront. "Thanks, Dave," he murmured, though he was far too comfortable to do more than just loosen his death grip. "Still have a way to go to get rid of everything negative," he mused with a self-deprecating chuckle.

"We'll figure out somethin’, Aje." It was a fairly new nickname he was trying out – a slurring of A.J. It carried a soft tone of endearment, something he was still struggling to give voice to outside of sex in this new, weird relationship. He'd had all kinds of pet names for old girlfriends while dating each, but he didn't feel entirely easy calling Rimmer any of those. _Even if at the right moments, he can be darling or sweet_ , he mused. _Not sure I’d go so far as “Angel” though …_

"This is a much better comfort method than cowering behind some piece of machinery. The machinery can't hug back."

"Kryten can, but it just feels strange,” Lister observed.

Rimmer smiled, shifting his head to rub his temple over Lister's. "Nona said more than one Ace has felt the same way, but I think she was just trying to make me feel better."

"Isn't that sort of necessary to get the Aces to – how was it you put it that once – throw their love spuds on the barbecue?"

"What, being terrified?"

"Making you lot feel better." Lister kissed his jaw, unable to help it.

"Says the man who did it by taunting me until I left," he rebutted with no heat. Any that might have been there was overridden by the heat of Lister's mouth on his skin.

"Smeg," Lister whispered harshly into a second kiss, the pressure of his hands increasing. "Why is it just touching you makes me want to shove you into bed?"

"Probably because I'm so smegging easy," the hologram offered. "You barely have to ask, and I'm practically sealing caulk in your hands."

"Hell, I didn't know I had to _ask_."

"You don't. Suggestions are enough." He tipped his head, giving Lister access to the length of his neck.

Lister nearly growled. "There's a bed behind you, and you're supposed to be on watch in a half-hour ..."

"Only half an hour?" Rimmer noised in a long, needy tone. "Are you sure that's enough time?"

Out in the corridor, as Cat sauntered back by a few minutes later with his daily pheromone aerosol, his ears twitched at a barely-audible guffaw and a half-moaned, "But why is your elbow _there_?"

 _Monkeys_ , he thought. _How'd they ever find time to build spaceships or invent the steam iron?_


	20. “Someone to Watch Over You”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace Rimmer may have waited too long to go home again, but with some help, he might just get the happy ending none of his predecessors did. Set in and after Series 8

_**Fic: Red Dwarf: Someone to Watch Over You**_  
Title: “Someone to Watch Over You”  
Writers: [](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/profile)[**metalkatt**](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/) and [](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/profile)[**veronica_rich**](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/)  


  


Rimmer gave his head a toss, flicking his gaze over the room. He hadn't heard of the Shandun before, and whereas he was used to giant, hulking behemoths of GELFs, these were more compact and serpentine in limb. They were no less violent, however, and as he stared across the table into their dead-white eyes, he had to suppress a shudder of revulsion. They'd been lucky enough to find a colony in their own dimension, and even luckier to find a lexicon chip for Kryten to install. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to begin the process. They'd already gone through several preparatory rituals, and performed if not well, at least amusingly enough that the collective was willing to give them a chance just for the potential humor of it. Then again, Rimmer had always felt the whole purpose of those rituals was to give the home tribe the benefit of feeling superior.

As befitted Lister's station as leader of this expedition (how he ended up in charge each time was always sort of a mystery to him, since he'd spent the better part of his life running from responsibility), he sat in the only chair before the three tribal leaders, Kochanski and Rimmer behind him. Kochanski faced behind him and Rimmer faced forward – they'd managed enough research to know this was a position of respect, since it meant a supplicant had the sense to protect all sides of himself. Crossing one leg over the other, he leaned back, hands together, trying to decide how long he should be silent before his opening salvo.

Finally, he couldn't handle their stares any longer, and cleared his throat. "You have items of interest to us. We too, have things you wish to possess." He said this in Shan'du'nie – Kryten, who was positioned between him and the leaders, off to the side, was his translator, but this bit, Lister was required to enunciate himself. Fortunately, he learned quickly – probably because of having to adjust for those damn video Esperanto lessons Rimmer had never been able to master and had been too stubborn to give up even when Lister was trying to sleep or generally slob around.

Kochanski kept her ears open for both Lister's and Kryten's words, wanting to make sure she didn't miss anything too terribly important. Most of it seemed like such silly macho posturing that she wondered if they would ever meet a matriarchal GELF society without all this stupid claptrap. She noticed one of the GELFs raise its weapon slightly in her direction, and she fired her nastiest "don't you smegging dare!" glare at it. She could have sworn it relaxed its limb with a sort of smug satisfaction, though how she could tell with those disturbing eyes and dull blue skin, she wasn't quite sure.

Kryten was halfway through translating his offer of fuel-scoop technology for transport craft when out of the corner of his eye Lister saw one of the leaders' guards unstrap a sidearm and level it in his general direction. "Hey," he said, shifting in his seat. To his credit – he thought – he didn't get up and beat the smeg out of the small domed building.

Rimmer's weapon was in his hand and pointing at the guard in question, the expression in his green eyes very serious. "I wouldn't be doing that if I were you. I can twist your heads off before you can blink, and don't you think I won't."

The blue guard Kochanski had been watching had a harpoon-type gun quickly up toward Rimmer, and she just as quickly hit the "on" switch to warm up her blaster. It was completely unnecessary, as the weapon would fire on command, but whoever had designed it for deep-space travel had won the JMC contract precisely because of this macho sound-effect addition – presumably to scare any enemies their people might encounter while mining. She didn't speak, but did smile as coldly as she could, aiming for the guard's crotch. When this had no effect, she raised it to its head; its expression of lax arrogance looked a little less certain. _You may not keep your genitals in the same place we do, but I'm betting it'd be a real pain to go around without whatever passes for a head, wouldn't it?_ she thought.

The Shandun in the room turned to Kryten, presumably to see if his translation would match their translators. The mechanoid looked briefly terror-stricken to repeat such a thing, but Lister nodded at him. "Go on, then. They've gotta know we mean business, Kryten."

The leaders looked at each of the _Dwarf's_ crew members in turn, then exchanged glances with the guards at the back of the room. A flick of one of the leaders' hands, whip-like fingers bending backwards as easily as human fingers bent forward, and the weapons all returned to their resting places. They all brought their hands above their heads and wiggled their fingers, a hissing, scraping, buzzing noise emanating from them. Rimmer arched an eyebrow but addressed Kryten. "Are they mocking us?"

"No, sir, they are laughing. It appears we have passed yet another test."

"You know, I never had much patience for tests, and what little I have is beginning to wear really smegging thin," he gritted.

"You pathetic pink things have strength you are not afraid to use," Kryten translated from the buzzing clicks of Shan'du'nie. "It is gratifying to see that not all humanoids are the greedy, filthy, moronic blockheads legend says you to be."

"Charmed, I'm sure," Rimmer grumbled, his weapon staying right where it was. "Though, I'm sure right now, we'd all like a little good faith shown by actually continuing the transaction proper."

Lister frowned. "Pink?" He shook his head. "Kryten, tell them – just tell them my patience is wearing thin and I'd like to know if they intend to actually trade with us or if we're just here for their amusement and nothing more." He held up a hand to stall the mechanoid briefly. "Tell 'em too ... tell them we recognize that WE came to THEM, but we're not asking something for nothing."

After the display of strength, the GELFs were far more interested in getting to the nub of trading proper, with offers being made, considered, rejected, remade, reconsidered, tweaked, and so on. After the better part of three hours, they'd come to an arrangement, with several pieces of the _Dwarf's_ mining equipment agreed as an exchange for seeds, fruit, and even some live plant cuttings for more immediate grafting and growing. The details of transport were hammered out, and Lister handed over a remote comm unit as Kryten explained how to use it to communicate with them while they were on the _Dwarf_ or in _Starbug_ during transport. They performed all the exit rituals and finally – sweet finally! – Lister was standing outside, breathing in oxygenated air. "I'm sure somehow that could've gone better, but no harm, no foul – so let's get the hell out of here," he told the other three.

They were a little over halfway back to where _Starbug_ was docked before Rimmer paused, lifting his head as he caught the sound of the slithery, buzzy movements of their erstwhile trading partners. "Oh smeg," he bitched, opening the closures on his hip and thigh holsters, and making sure he could easily reach the bazookoid on his back. "Can't we get just one single smegging break?"

Lister didn't even think to look up into the trees as they walked; he was never sure if they were going for him or Rimmer particularly, but by the way the three Shandun swarmed Rimmer, he thought it might be safe to figure that they were looking to disable the heaviest-armed of his party. Rimmer cursed under his breath in English and some of the more unsavory Ionian dialects he never would have admitted he knew as he struggled, punching, kicking, biting, and stabbing as the entangling limbs effectively cut off his reach to most of his weaponry.

Lister had never claimed to be a rocket scientist or even fit for management of the shopping-cart jockeys he'd worked with briefly at Megamart, but he took a certain pride in leaping into action when his friends were attacked. He had no problems wading into a fight to help his mates. But the anger this attack stirred down in his gut was disproportionate; it reminded him more of the one and only time he'd ever had to take on a fight on behalf of a girlfriend. He'd come out of the loo at the Arms and found two big blokes surrounding Shanna, his steady at the time. One was pulling at her arm and the other was laughing, and to this day Lister still hadn't figured out how he'd gotten around two pool tables and two chairs to help her shove them away.

Without a plan or much finesse, he plowed into the over-six-foot guard closest to him. The element of surprise let him knock the guy (at least he thought it was male) to the ground. One of the other two Shandun turned in what looked like surprise – Lister didn't give him a chance to talk, instead delivering a left cross that would've made Ali cry at the beauty of it. He fell on his fellow guard, and as they struggled and he tried to gauge whether to attack the third or find a way to keep the two down, Kris saved him the trouble by planting a not-insubstantial booted foot in the center of the back of the one on top and aiming her blaster at their heads. "Go on!" she snapped.

The third attacker had grabbed one of Rimmer's guns and shoved the barrel up under his chin. Part of Lister's mind noted that while Rimmer looked plenty worried, he looked more pissed off, glaring at the guard; it made him inordinately proud of the smeghead. Lister couldn't understand what he (he? who knew) was saying, but he guessed it was a warning to back off or Rimmer's face was going to get rearranged via bullet. "Wait a-" Lister started to say.

He didn't get any further – the guard had turned his attention partly on Lister for some stupid reason, giving Rimmer the chance to twist and bring his knee up into what would've been the solar plexus on a human, and disable the asshole. Rimmer's nose scrunched up in concentration and irk as he smacked around his attacker, and when they were disabled, he turned his attention on Lister.

His eyes were alight with adrenaline and a touch of the manic, and he closed the distance between them, placed a hand on the back of the man's neck, and drew him close in a rough moment, mashing their mouths together, the kiss all heat and no finesse as teeth clacked and noses bumped in haste.

Lister's hands itched to plow through that hair, rub skin, and squeeze various body parts as their tongues shoved against, over, under one another. After an amount of time he couldn't have identified in a lineup, the tympani of his own heartbeat was overridden by the sounds of buzzing and clicking, and he forcibly broke the kiss and pulled back. "We've gotta ... get going," he panted, with great regret, seeing the near-drowning lust in Rimmer's eyes. "More coming."

Off to the side, Kochanski took her foot from the two guards after grinding her heel in roughly, but kept her blaster trained on them as she backed away, looking around to see if the path was clear. "Hey, I helped, too!" she needled Rimmer as they all three broke into a run. "Don't I get something?"

"When we get back," he replied, looking over his shoulder, "I will bake you the richest, thickest, most decadent chocolate cake I can – unless you'd prefer something else."

She would have smarted off something in return except for Dave's hollered, "TAKE THE CAKE, KRISSIE!" back over his shoulder. As it was, she was barely able to keep in enough air to run with the burst of laughter that kept her coughing all the way up into _Starbug_.

When they got inside, Rimmer got the door closed behind him, letting Kochanski and Lister zoom into the cockpit first. He pushed Kryten toward his science station. "Laser cannons NOW, Kryten!" he insisted before plopping hard into his own navigation chair and dancing his long fingers over the buttons.

Kryten figured he'd have to wait until later to inform Mr. Rimmer he wouldn't move any faster being pushed, since he weighed considerably more than the hologram and the shove had had no noticeable effect on his ambulatory velocity. "Sirs, ma'am, I recommend we hold cannons only as a defensive measure and don't fire first," he advised, as Lister and Kochanski furiously took the controls out of lock-mode and lifted off.

"Noted!' Lister called back, willing the _'Bug_ to lift higher, faster. There was a slight percussion on the underside of the ship as they were hit by comparatively underpowered weaponry. The craft responded beautifully under Lister's hands, and Rimmer wondered for a fraction of a moment if he'd been working on _Starbug_ like he had been the _Wildfire_.

The _'Bug_ finally broke the planet's atmosphere and kicked off toward _Red Dwarf_ , hanging in orbit just outside the pull of its small moon. It took a full thirty minutes to return, during which time none of them spoke except to give status reports. Nobody wanted to be the first to admit they'd smegged up royally on the trade, even if they did have to defend themselves. As they docked in the cargo bay and touched down on the floor, only knocking over a couple of crates this time, Lister briefly, bemusedly wondered if it would be possible to send the Cat by himself to negotiate since he hadn't been tainted by the proceedings, staying with the _Dwarf_ instead, and the Shandun didn't know him.

Kochanski quickly and tactfully pulled Kryten out of the ship as fast as she could, thinking up excuse after excuse to get the mechanoid moving. She'd read romance novels in her teenage years, and she was pretty sure she knew what was going to be happening on the smaller craft in just a few minutes. She wasn't too far off the mark, and it began with Rimmer tugging Lister up out of the chair by his arm, and resuming where they'd left off that kiss earlier.


	21. “Someone to Watch Over You”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace Rimmer may have waited too long to go home again, but with some help, he might just get the happy ending none of his predecessors did. Set in and after Series 8

_**Fic: Red Dwarf: Someone to Watch Over You**_  
Title: “Someone to Watch Over You”  
Writers: [](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/profile)[**metalkatt**](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/) and [](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/profile)[**veronica_rich**](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/)  


Stumbling back into the midsection and just barely managing not to fall off the step, Lister steered Rimmer's backside against the table, thankfully bolted to the floor. The whole time he ran his hands down the man's sides, up his back, up to grab his shoulders and arms, and was cradling his face firmly when they landed against the table, kisses deep and long. "Do you have any idea," Rimmer grumbled, getting his hands under Lister's jacket, "how smegging gorgeous you are when you're all defensive like that?"

"Is that what this is all about?" he asked, knowing it was. He liked hearing Rimmer talk to him, tell him what he was feeling about the things they did together.

"You bet your arse it is." Rimmer heard the jacket hit the floor with a soft slap, and got to work getting his fingers under the man's shirt. "So focused." Kiss. "Dedicated." Nip. "Angry ..." He took Lister's mouth for a longer, deeper kiss, letting it draw out before even trying to speak again. "I love that look in your eyes."

"I have got to go around picking fights more often," Lister moaned, lifting the edge of Rimmer's shirt with one hand by sliding it up his flat stomach, and using the other to start pushing his leather jacket to the table.

Rimmer shifted, getting Lister's earlobe between his teeth. The Scouser's ears weren't as sensitive as his own, but they still had quite a few nerve endings. "Possessive. Determined. And a little crazy. Just a touch. Strong, too. Anyone who ever called you Fat Boy when you were a kid would have to eat their words, because you could kick any of their arses."

"Including you just a few years ago?"

"Including me. Make me eat my words, Dave." He gave the earlobe another nip. "Show me what you've become." Instead of getting rough, Lister leaned in and blew across Rimmer's lips, barely a breath, watching the way his pupils reacted. He peppered them with tiny, lingering kisses, keeping his eyes open, stopping every so often to rub the blunt tip of his nose beneath Rimmer's. "When they first tried to threaten you,” Rimmer breathed, “I was ready to twist their heads right off their necks – I might not even have taken the time to figure where the one ended and the other began."

"I wanted to shoot a hole through the middles of all three of them," Lister admitted, sliding his arms around Rimmer tightly. "Hit 'em hard; punish all of them for trying to hurt you."

Rimmer shivered, and he knew by the look on Lister's face that he'd felt it. "We may have to go into AR sometime so I can see that. Smeg, but I want to see that."

Lister suspected this had something to do with the little boy who still lived deep inside Rimmer who'd spent a lifetime not being claimed by anyone – family or otherwise – or having anyone proud of him. Thoughts that were far too tender for the feelings he had at the moment were pushed to the back of Lister's mind for another day. "You do, huh? Want to see me saving you, defending you against a bunch of bad guys?" He pulled Rimmer against him, away from the table, just a tad roughly, their noses mashed together as he angled his head up. "Dragging you back to my bedroll in a cave somewhere?"

"I simply want to see you beat the snot out of people, and then shag you long and well as a reward for my champion ... preferably in a clean bed without any bugs."

Lister smiled, at once relaxed and horribly, horribly horny and hard. "What about a bed in a _'Bug_?" he teased, turning them toward the metal stairs and tugging Rimmer along. They both laughed as they mounted the stairs, the relief at being alive and desire for the protective sides of each other making their steps lighter. Rimmer couldn't remember ever wanting to be close to anyone as much as he wanted to be skin-to-skin with Lister right this moment, and he gave the man's backside a squeeze to hasten him even more. Lister stumbled up the stairs at the grab, reaching back to playfully swat away Rimmer's hand. "Hey I have to concentrate to walk, guy!" he laughed.

"Then get a move on. I need my hands on your skin, or my bee is going to short out!"

"Smeg, there's nothin' short about your bee." Lister waited until he was at the top of the steps to make the innuendo, waggling his eyebrows, and ducked Rimmer's grab, racing the short distance to the closest sleeping quarters and palming the door open, barely slipping inside before Rimmer caught up with him.

Rimmer spun Lister around, taking another kiss, palms cupping the round face. "I think that's supposed to be my line for you, isn't it?" he murmured, licking open-mouthed at Lister's teeth as they panted.

They backed toward the closest cot and practically fell on it, Rimmer nearly in his lap, and Lister muttered, "Speaking of lines ... do we need my popup book for this?"

"I'd rather just muddle through this time, and not have to break focus from you to look at print instructions, if that's okay with you. I want to figure out what makes you squirm."

Without speaking, Lister grabbed one of Rimmer's hands and brought it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the center of the palm. He licked it a little in circles, letting his nose brush over the heel of the hand. Rimmer's head fell back as Lister let go of his hands and started to skate those rough palms over his chest. "Hey now," he gasped. "The idea this time was for me to be petting _you._ "

He half-giggled at the slightly offended tone in Rimmer's voice. "Yeah, what about that?" Lister countered. "I'm doing all the work here ..."

"You jammy bastard," he moaned. "You know damn well you make my brain short out." His trousers felt exceedingly tight already; he always had been sensitive to touch. With what felt like monumental effort, he reached up to take Lister's wrists in his hands, removing them from their thought-stealing path. "You take all these thoughts I have of going slow," he panted, "and toss them out the airlock so all I want to do is have you hard and fast."

Lister's eyes darkened, widened, and he leaned close even as his hands were tightly imprisoned. "I want you to go slow. I want you to take your time and go as slow as you can, and drive me absolutely, brilliantly insane with lust."

"You told me once about our Low selves," Rimmer began, turning Lister's palms face up. He began to kiss, lick, and nibble on each one of those short fingers in turn, speaking between caresses. "You said he wanted to tie you down, hurt you, take you, lacerate you with the holo-whip." He shook his head. "I don't want any of that, not like that. But damn, Lister, the things I dreamed of doing to you ..."

Lister watched, rather breathless, at the blatant worship being performed upon his person. "I probably ... wasn't quite ready for it," he admitted in a small voice. Even after a few months of fairly regular sex, he wasn't used to Rimmer having his way like this. "What did you want to do, if not ... hurt me?"

"I told you earlier, Lister ... I wanted to slam you into the wall and kiss you stupid. Make you pant and strain and whimper for me, and not for the idea of someone who dumped you because she didn't see your worth. We fought and argued and bickered, but you always came back for me ... and I'll always come back for you." He released Lister's wrists, reaching out to unbutton the white cloth. "Always." Pushing the thermals off his shoulders, Rimmer resumed his oral attention on the inside of Lister's near arm.

Watching him kiss and lick and suck at his skin, Lister bent to bury his face in the top of Rimmer's head. "I knew there was something decent in you," he finally said, muffled. "I saw hints of it way too much, for years."

Rimmer looked up, intrigue in his eyes. "That's what you consider decency?" he asked in a genuine tone. "Wanting to be over you, petting you, making you feel me, someone extant and there and very much an approximation of alive?"

"That's the cherry on top. I'm talking about someone who can face up to their faults, take a deep breath, and keep on going, try to fix the ones they can and accept what they are on the rest. You were always so unhappy with yourself ... it was hard to watch you like that, sometimes." He grinned a dirty, sly smile. "But I've gotta admit, watching you flex and fist your hands when you get jealous of someone ... that's more than decent, too."

That caught Rimmer's attention as he licked and blew at the inside of Lister's arm, making gooseflesh rise on the skin. "You liked watching me seethe?" he wondered. "What about it did you enjoy?"

"That's a loaded question," he finally answered. "I mean, think about it ... wouldn't you get some secret pleasure out of seeing me slug it out with Yvonne for you?"

Rimmer paused in his attentions, pondering that for a moment. "You know ... I'm not sure I would. No, no, it has nothing to do with being all mature," he muttered, turning his mouth to Lister's bicep. "She never really wanted me."

"None of the things you ever seethed about me were because anyone else was tryin' to drag me away, either!" Lister pointed out, squirming now.

"Are you kidding me?" He worked his way up to nip at Lister's neck. "I was for certain that Ace was going to take you." _Lick._ "Claim you." _Suck._ "Make you his."

"Oh, ACE," he repeated, in understanding, tilting his head back to help. "Forgot all about him …"

Rimmer pulled up at that, gazing heatedly into Lister's defocused eyes. "Say that again," he insisted, tone firm. "Tell me you forgot him."

"Until you mentioned him, yeah ... I mean, 's hard to think about him with you right here instead, isn't it?" He said without thought, as if it were a truth. Since it was, and all.

Rimmer leaned in and drank deeply of Lister's mouth, a soft rumbling in his chest. The kiss took on a life of its own as Rimmer stroked and petted Lister's skin, soaking the man in through every sense he possessed. "Hell," Lister swore, barely able to speak past the mouth on his own. The utterance was more of a reflex, anyway; he was already getting his hands beneath Rimmer's shirt and clutching at tightly muscled skin.

Rimmer reached back to take Lister's hands, putting them down at his sides. "No, you don't," he hummed, working his way to nibble at Lister's cleft chin. "It's my turn now. I'm the one who's going to play with you this time, savor every inch."

"I can't even smeggin' _touch_ you?" he whined, his skin tingling, all his blood having boarded an escape pod for parts south.

"No." He shook his head slowly, brushing their noses together. "No, you can touch me when I'm done." He continued on, exploring, tasting, touching, learning everything he could about what made his lover jump, squirm, and gasp. There was a brief break when Rimmer discovered that Lister's sides were ticklish, and he applied his long fingers until Lister’s face was streaming with tears, barely able to breathe. However, as he worked lower, Lister's laughter subsided and turned to low noises of frustrated need as Rimmer bypassed the erection with barely a lick and a brush of a cheek before moving to play with the insides of his thighs.

He wriggled desperately to begin with, trying to escape the confines of those hands and tongue; it was too much, for as long as he'd gone without this depth of attention. Finally, when he realized he was as mired as landing gear in quicksand, Lister gave up and instead concentrated on focusing his labored breathing, which required he keep his hips still and count back from one thousand. "You're a ... bleedin' torturer, damn it, Arn ..." No wonder the man liked military campaigns; even if his energy in them was poorly placed, he seemed good at strategy, at least when it came to something that enthused him.

Past knees, past ankles, Rimmer began to work the muscles in Lister's feet – thankfully they'd been washed and powdered earlier – with his thumbs, smirking to himself as Lister's eyes crossed and his head fell back. "Oh yes," he hummed with a grin. "I'm an evil, sadistic bastard, and you'd do well not to forget it." Releasing Lister's feet, Rimmer crawled back up that body, dragging his own over it. He balanced himself up on his elbows, hovering over Lister with a smug look on his face. " _Now_ you may touch me, Lister ..." He bent down to nip at that dark-cherry mouth, flushed with exertion. "And tell me what you _want_ me to do to you this time."

"What I want." Lister barely managed to get his voice above a squeak. It wasn't very manful, but he was rather past caring as he lay trapped by wicked green eyes. "Anything you can think to do, Arn." He worked his hands back underneath that shirt before Rimmer could change his mind. "Putting your mouth to work is a good start ..."

Rimmer shivered pleasantly, leaning down to kiss. "Like this?"

Lister felt it was important to encourage good work. He made an appreciative noise and nodded, angling his head to fit their mouths together.

Before he'd died, Rimmer had often tried to imagine kissing. He'd seen it in movies and in porn, and it'd been touted in books and magazines as terribly important, but he'd never really understood it. The kisses he'd shared with Yvonne were sloppy and uncoordinated due to her concussion and his inexperience. Nirvanah had been delicate, precise and skilled, but until the very end, they seemed to be lacking in something he couldn't define, but found himself craving when he took out the memories to warm himself.

When he kissed Lister, it was as if someone stuck his bee into a light socket, sending sparks all through his body. His thoughts tended to flee, leaving him at the mercy of emotion and sensation, two things he was unused to dealing without the mitigation of his thoughts. Lister was good at kissing; it wasn't just skilled, it wasn't precise, it was emotive, communicative, it was ... Lister. It pulled Rimmer out, drew him in, brought forth all that simmered under the Ionian's self-control.

With his last three remaining brain cells not being short-circuited by Rimmer's amazing tongue (and there was a phrase he'd never intended to imagine), Lister tugged at the shirt, pulling it up Arn's back, positioning it to yank quickly so as not to break their kiss too long. He kept going, pulling the man's arms above his head; in a fit of inspiration, he grabbed the ends of both sleeves with one hand while Rimmer's arms were still caught in them, and felt down the man's side with his free hand, tickling his side lightly.

Rimmer squirmed, snickering. "Ooh, is it time for payback?" he asked, getting his head free from the cloth. Lister kept at it, grinning. He liked Rimmer like this – laughing, happy, far less smeggy than usual.

Rimmer kept laughing, a large smile on his face. He used the insides of his thighs to grasp onto Lister's knees, bowing his back in an effort to press his stomach into the erection he'd neglected so cruelly earlier. It was a bit awkward sometimes, being so much taller, but it presented an opportunity to find ways to make it work.

Lister gasped. "Oh ... no," he fought. "You're not ... going to distract me from your richly ... deserved punishment, Rimmer ..."

Aha! It was working. He continued squirming under Lister's fingers, using the reflexes to press and roll against him. "You call this punishment?" He tried for a dark chuckle, but the tickling made it come out in a sort of squirrel-toned hiccup. "You'll have to do a lot better than that, miladdio."

It is simply impossible to chuckle low and dirty when someone's tickling you. It was also damn near impossible to keep tickling someone who was doing such lovely things to your squishy bits, Lister decided, especially when the tickling resulted in movements nearly squishing those bits. He stopped tickling, instead sliding his hand slowly up the side of Rimmer's back, then back down to the upper swell of his ass. He did this again, pleased to see the man's hooded eyes and hear the beginnings of a strangled purr.

"Scratch there, just a little bit," Rimmer directed, and let out a long, low groan when he felt those fingernails on his skin. "Smeg, yeah. I love it when you're like that – just – ahh! Just, just a little rough." He took a deep, shuddering breath and pressed his forehead against Lister's temple, breathing hotly into his neck.

He put both hands to work tracing over the muscles of Arn's back. He was rather well put-together for such a skinny git, and it was no great chore to scrape his nails up and down, and once, along his spine. "Y'like that, do you?" he asked, tongue briefly in the man's ear, before lightly biting his earlobe and pulling at it.

"Unh!" Rimmer shuddered again, pressing velour-covered hips into Lister's thighs. "Son of a smegging goddamned smegging fucking bitch," he swore in appreciation.

Lister chewed gently at the earlobe, then licked his way up the shell, getting his hands down inside the back of those too-tight trousers. They were really too obvious. "You're such an exhibitionist," he breathed, barely keeping from chuckling. "Has to be the only reason you wear these."

"They- mm, nn ..." Damn his sensitive ears! "Nn, comf'ble." He knew the moment Lister got his hands on him, his rational thought would speed out the airlock faster than a tachyon; it always did.

Hands around the sides to bare hips, palming and kneading with occasional hard squeezes; mouth on his neck, teeth gently biting folds of skin; hips lifted in earnest offering – Lister felt like he was giving a hell of a show should anyone walk in right now, but it'd be worth even that for the filthy things he'd finally gotten Rimmer to say.

"Bite me harder," Rimmer insisted. Every muscle tensed as he bit into the pillow to stifle the resulting strangled groan. "Mark me, Lister," he demanded, voice hoarse. "I want to look at my neck and see bruises in an hour."

It wasn't the first time a lover had asked for teeth, but it was the first time Lister had felt in a position to comply, since Rimmer was more or less indestructible and amazingly self-healing – he wasn't sure if anything he'd do would last long. Still, he tried. He licked skin, suckled on it, and bit, hard, without piercing – the taut, muscled skin of his shoulder, the slightly loose, pliable skin of his long throat, the tender flesh where jaw met neck. As he did this, Lister dug his fingers into Arn's backside, thrusting up to rub him through the relatively thin, soft, buttery material.

Rimmer let out a string of expletives that would have made Petersen blush, and he curled his fingers hard into the mattress to try to keep himself from going over right there. When Lister slackened his grip, Rimmer collapsed, panting heavily. "Oh, god, yes, Lister. I want it, want you. Take me this time. Give it to me good, you gerbil-faced bastard."

He'd learned early it was prudent to ask instead of just assuming, even if he thought he knew the answer. "This way?" he asked, voice dropped low enough to apply direct current to Rimmer's spine. "Or like this?" He rolled them sideways and partway onto Rimmer's back, his breath coming in aching bursts.

"Pin me down," he insisted, only a thin ring of green showing around his wide-blown pupils. He was flushed, his mouth swollen from abuse, his curls mussed and sticking every which way. "I want to feel you strong, show me. Give me what you're capable of." His lips twisted up in a sort of mad grin as he pushed his hips up into Lister's. "Shut me up, make me listen to you, get in the last goddamned word."

It was definitely among the weirdest sexual encounters Lister had been involved with, but he reflected that for Rimmer to demand all this ... well, didn't seem all that strange. With nearly anyone else, he would've worried about repercussions and tears, but he'd just been with Rimmer too long. He suspected, and knew, too much. He adjusted his balance, grabbing both of Rimmer's wrists and forcing them up behind his head. Looking around, he spotted his thermal shirt still in the bunk, so he shook it out and wound it around Rimmer's wrists, finally tying them to the edge of the bunk by looping the bottom part of a leftover sleeve through a long, narrow punch in the metal frame. "Stay put," he ordered, sitting back on his heels, eyeing his options. "I need to get something." With that, he dismounted, but not without first grabbing handfuls of bunched material at Rimmer's hips and giving a vicious downward tug to finish stripping him.

Rimmer gave the fabric a token tug, looking up at the white material. He bit his lip, grinning up at the tether as he waited. He squirmed a bit, feeling quite exposed, and he tried to see what Lister was doing.

Having dove for supplies and come up successful, Lister bent low over Rimmer's chest. He bit gently around one nipple, gauging, until he felt comfortable applying harder pressure. Were anyone in the hall, they would be able to clearly hear Rimmer's low groans as Lister worked him over. He rolled his head from side to side, enjoying not just the control, but finally having someone he could trust, to let in past his walls and worries.

The harder he scraped and squeezed, the more Rimmer writhed and twisted beneath his touch; more worrying was that Lister had spent far too much time thinking about this, reading up on it once upon a time – and could see why it got him off. When he moved back to Rimmer's neck, he slipped open the bottle he'd found, and put his fingers to work elsewhere. If his teeth and lips were kneading and sucking, he tried to keep his hand steady and to firm but very _very_ careful movements. "Is this it?" he accused, dropping his voice and drawling out the sounds. "Is this what you wanted? Me to use you?"

"Any way you like," Rimmer ground out, trying to push himself against the touches. He felt hypersensitive, the scratch of the sheets at his back, the soft give of the thermal around his wrists ... Lister hovering over him, radiating heat, biting, pressing, surrounding him. "Anything you want, Listy ..." The words came out on a whimper. "Anything you want, just more."

The man beneath him arched and bared his throat as Lister took him, finally, trying to move smoothly despite the way he was having to balance himself, since Rimmer was tied up. Leaning in, he licked at that Adam's apple, delicately, as his hips searched for a rhythm ... soon enough, it turned to mouthing, and then desperate sucking on the warm, simulated flesh, as he found his angle and moved more surely. When Rimmer tried to turn his upper body on its side at one point, Lister suckled higher, along his jaw. Insistently, he cocked his head the other way and angled it over to cover that other mouth in a hard kiss, forcing him back into place.

Only, he didn't abandon the kiss; he mentally counted his thrusts by _one hundred, two hundred, three ... twenty-three hundred ..._ as he licked deep inside, messy, one hand extending upwards and feeling around rather unsuccessfully at first to yank at the knot loosening his wrists. "Arnold," he whispered fiercely, quietly, against his lower lip.

The moment his hands were free, Rimmer brought his arms to hold on, rocking up into the man above him. "Dave ... god, Dave," he murmured. He could feel the tension pooling, building up as they moved, the sounds of sheets and skin and breath seeming to shake the room ... or maybe that was just Lister making his eyes cross. He wasn't sure. Did he even had a name?

Oh, yes, he did. It was "Lister's."

"Almost ... more. Please, more, please, Dave."

Lister nearly cracked at that, desperately thinking of a way not to explode immediately at the sound of _that_ voice saying _those_ things and _his_ name. Gratefully, he realized he'd been sorely neglectful of a rather significant detail; he shifted position to hold himself up better, briefly interrupting what he was doing. Arn actually whined at the loss, but seemed assuaged when Lister's hand wrapped around his unsatisfied cock. "Better?" he asked, breathlessly; he would've laughed at the look on Rimmer's face, if he hadn't been so busy hard at work thinking of other things for the moment. Like, long division he'd never been very good at; naked GELFs; a world without curry.

Rimmer's arms tightened and he curled inward around Lister, gasping as he reached his climax, twitching and shuddering. For all he was vocal during the buildup, he was quiet at the finish. He held on, keeping Lister close through his own orgasm, not wanting to let go.

When he could let go between them, Lister dropped his hand on the mattress and happily swore off math and hairy simulants, unleashing his brain and related bits to think about exactly whatever they wanted to. Which, was pretty much Rimmer the way he was right now. He realized he was being held quite tightly, and only had time for _He sure puts the 'hard' in hard light-_ before thankfully, his own release hit a crescendo, and he was able to give up any sort of control and simply let his sweaty body finish the job.

They both collapsed, breathless and boneless, and Rimmer turned them both a little to the side so he could curl around, pressing his nose happily into Lister's neck. He smiled, contented, as the air cooled them both, aching pleasantly from their exertions. "Thank you," he hummed, feeling sleep creeping up on him. "Do love you; just not easy to say."

Lister was drained, in addition to surprised. He'd put forth considerable exertions, not just physically; maneuvering his brain around Rimmer's erotic roadmap, doing things he'd never engaged in with anyone else, had sapped some of his fortitude. It simply went against his nature to hurt someone he was making love to, and he was amazed here was someone who _enjoyed_ it. "I can tell," he finally said, when he could breathe normally, reaching around to hold Rimmer closer. "Believe me, there's nobody else I know worth chomping into this much."

Rimmer chuckled sleepily, snuggling in. "Remind me to make your next curry myself. Won't fuck it up on purpose, I promise. No dumplings."

"You still have the hazard suit?"

"'M hologram. Don't need it."

"The light bee can explode," Lister pointed out.

"I'll just stop breathing while I'm making it."


	22. “Someone to Watch Over You”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace Rimmer may have waited too long to go home again, but with some help, he might just get the happy ending none of his predecessors did. Set in and after Series 8

_**Fic: Red Dwarf: Someone to Watch Over You**_  
Title: “Someone to Watch Over You”  
Writers: [](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/profile)[**metalkatt**](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/) and [](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/profile)[**veronica_rich**](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/)  


  


Rimmer blinked awake forty-five minutes later to a fullness in his bladder, but stayed put a moment to enjoy where he was. He marveled, not for the first time, just how well his body simulated being human. It contained the necessary apparatus for digestion, allowing him to extract energy from comestible materials, though it also output the requisite waste products. It was often awkward for him to flip to soft-light when he had eaten or drunk anything. Right now he ached in several places he'd tended to forget existed, the dull throbbing in his neck echoing similar throbbing elsewhere.

He smiled, contented, relaxed as he hadn't been in ... well, since he could remember. His skin was sticky with salt, and the pillows smelled of toothpaste and lager from where they'd both been power-napping, and damn his near-human body for making him get up. Lister made noises and tightened his arms, brows creasing in his sleep as Rimmer tried to get away from him. He kissed the top of Lister's forehead, making soft explanations about needing the bathroom and being right back, and Lister slackened his grip enough that he could slip out.

As he washed his hands a few minutes later, he could see that one side of his neck, and even down onto his shoulder and chest, was covered with purple and dark red blotches. Rimmer tipped his head, noting the extent, and memorized how those bruises looked and felt. On the chance he never got this again, he wanted to be able to pull them out with perfect clarity and remember. He decided he needed a shower, and stepped over, closing the door after him and turning on the water. He was midway through working the conditioner through his unruly hair when the door opened, and Lister stepped into the stall with him. "Thought you were comin' right back to bed, man.”

"I was all sticky; wanted a shower." He smiled, eyes closing as he pressed his fingers into his scalp.

He looked Rimmer over, blinking. “For god's sake, you're covered in marks …"

Rimmer's eyes popped open, confused, and he shot Lister a puzzled glance before looking down at himself. He hadn't thought to check anywhere but his neck, but there were several stubby-finger shaped bruises on his hips, and he chuckled to examine them. "You really got me good, didn't you?"

"I don't even know what that was, Rimmer. I mean, you practically wanted me to abuse you."

Rimmer reached out to take Lister's wrist, pulling him further into the spray before reaching for the shampoo. "I'm not sure I can even explain it," he began, lathering the cream between his hands. "But, it was magnificent. I honestly cannot remember the last time I felt this... well, relaxed. Whatever it was, what we did, it took that big knot of tension that's always been somewhere inside me, and just sort of undid it." He massaged the foam into Lister's scalp, smiling when he gave a soft little grunt of enjoyment.

"I can't ... I'm not up to that every time," Lister sighed. "It's so smegging draining ..."

"It's not an every time sort of thing, I don't think." He worked his knuckles at the base of Lister's skull, enjoying the way the man's mouth dropped open as the muscles unbunched. "You're right, it is draining. But, it was magnificent."

"Gonna have to heal yourself up. Can't go around looking like you've been the feeding station for a flock of vampires."

Adding more soap to his hands, Rimmer began working at the locks Lister kept to the back of his head. "Why? Does it bother you to see them?"

"I don’t know, really." He tilted his head forward a little to accommodate his bunkmate's reach. "Some, yeah. I always learned that you treat whoever you're in bed with well ... you're not really supposed to _hurt_ them."

"It didn't hurt, though. At least, what I felt wasn't unpleasant," Rimmer explained. "Even this, what you see on me, it doesn't hurt. I feel it; I can feel the blood rushing under my neck there, but it doesn't hurt."

He lifted his head and reached up beneath Rimmer's upper arms, wrapping his fingers around them. "How did it feel? Um, when I was doing it, I mean?"

"Amazing." The word easily fell out of his mouth, and he blushed a little at it. "I've done too much to be a prude anymore, and I know you aren't exactly inexperienced, but I can honestly say, and mean it, that that was more intense, more liberating, and more mind-shattering than anything I experienced as Ace."

He took a step and pressed Rimmer loosely against the wall with his body; it was pure reflex to reach forward and kiss him, tasting him and the water and minute bits of soap running between their faces. Rimmer responded with ease and playfulness, nuzzling his nose into Lister's. The only downside to feeling so completely at ease was that it would probably take a week to get back into fine bastard fighting form, but for the moment, he didn't much care.

Lister pulled back a couple of inches to eye him. "I sort of like you like this," he admitted. "It's weird."

"All soft and pliable and more Ace than Rimmer?" The smile mitigated any perception of negativity; he was truly amused, and feeling far too good to be snippy.

"Nah, man, you're not Ace. The man had no fear; no wonder he bit it at such a young age and had to replace himself."

"I prefer to think of it as applied caution." A twinge of a frown hit him, and he closed his eyes. "I lost my fifth target; they shot her right in front of me, made me watch her die. I was overconfident, too independent, too arrogant. I nearly lost another one a few months later. Took me awhile to realize that caution isn't a bad thing; it's the cowardice that really smegs you up."

This is what Lister had been built for – comfort and sympathy – and so he slid arms around Rimmer and put his forehead against Arn's, and simply held him. "Yeah, I think I definitely like you like this," Lister said just over the sound of the water. "You can't be perfect, and you can't beat yourself up for not being."

The water splashed down and sprayed upward around them, creating a heated, steam-laden pocket of bliss. "I'm not sure I fully learned that until just a bit ago."

"I probably shouldn't have been so insistent about the whole thing with you shutting yourself off that time," Lister admitted, sliding his hands up and down wet, slick, simulated skin. On a whim, he pressed a kiss to a couple of the bruises blooming across Rimmer's shoulder, not having to stretch up for that.

Rimmer shivered at the contact, turning to rest his cheek on Lister's head. "You're going to spoil me, I think. I'll end up becoming as lazy and hedonistic as the Cat."

"Maybe I can get you to finally stop doing a morning run around the ship." _And stop making me feel like a lazy git for not getting up and following along,_ he mentally added. Although he had to admit following Rimmer would give him a pleasant view as he huffed his way to an early heart attack, at least.

"I might make it an afternoon run, followed by an afternoon nap." He could see his partner's skin beginning to swell and fold. "But right now, you're getting pruney. Let's wash up and go face the others, hmm?"

They had just finished rinsing off, trading kisses in the spray a couple of minutes later, when there was a loud thumping on the door of their quarters. "Guys, look, I'm not going to make fun of you if you're kissing, I promise, just open the damn door." More thumping. "Come ON!"

The two men looked at each other with wide eyes; had the Shandun caught up with them? After a moment's terrified pause, and another round of pounding at the door, they both sprang into action, Lister grabbing the towels and throwing one at Rimmer They wrapped the terrycloth around their waists, hastily tucking in the ends before Lister palmed open the door.

Kochanski was shocked to have the door open in her face, but her obvious glee overshadowed anything else. "We're safe!"

"What?" Lister demanded.

"We're safe! The attack was another test!" She bounced on the balls of her feet, smiling widely. It wasn't the pinball smile that Lister had originally fallen for, but it was still a nice smile. "They sent us a message saying they'd be happy to trade with us again, now that we'd passed everything."

"So, everything's okay. We're not being attacked." Rimmer's words were definitely statements, not questions, and the tone was more than a little irritated.

"No, why would- Oh." She only realized they were wet when a drop of water fell from Rimmer's nose and made a soft splat on the ground. As her eyes tracked up from where it had fallen, she realized that terrycloth was not exactly the best at hiding what was under it, nor were ship-issue towels big enough to cover much in the way of surface area. She forced her eyes up, up over two nicely formed torsos, one longer than the other, and two sets of decently made shoulders (one set covered in bite-shaped bruises) ... before actually making it up to their eyes. "Oh. OH!" She put her hand over her mouth, slightly horrified. "I thought you two were just hiding from me. I didn't realize you were- ohmigod, I need to get the camera."

She turned and sped away as Lister palmed and locked the door. Wet plaits made soft slapping sounds as they hit his back here and there, and he looked up at Rimmer, who was very obviously trying not to laugh. "I swear, that woman is incorrigible! I wonder if my Kris ever wondered if we were getting it on when we were alive."

"Nah. For one, I was far too tense to be getting any on a regular basis." He got his hand behind Lister's head and drew him in for a long kiss, then rested their foreheads together. "Come on. Let's get dressed before she gets here with the Instamatical, or whatever the hell it was they called those stupid cameras."


	23. “Someone to Watch Over You”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace Rimmer may have waited too long to go home again, but with some help, he might just get the happy ending none of his predecessors did. Set in and after Series 8

_**Fic: Red Dwarf: Someone to Watch Over You**_  
Title: “Someone to Watch Over You”  
Writers: [](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/profile)[**metalkatt**](http://metalkatt.livejournal.com/) and [](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/profile)[**veronica_rich**](http://veronica-rich.livejournal.com/)  


Looking up over his book and the tips of his boots propped on the console every so often to make sure nothing was streaking toward the ship, Lister worked his way through _Pride and Prejudice_. Kochanski had been on his case to read something other than _Muscle Brain and the League of Brawny Ice Heroes_ comics for some time. So far, the book wasn’t too bad, and it was easier to get through than he’d always been led to believe. Sure, Darcy was a git, but really just an overzealous suitor, the poor bastard.

He was close to reaching for his pocket dictionary to identify a term he didn’t recognize when Holly popped up onscreen. “What’s happening?” the computer asked, looking as though he were trying to peer over the edge of his screen. “Reading some Austen. That’s good. Exercises your brain. Flabby gray matter’s bad for morale.”

Finishing a sentence, Lister flicked his eyes back and forth until he was done, then asked, “Everything all right, Hol?”

“Pretty quiet,” Holly reported, the head bobbing slightly. “Just killing a couple of minutes before I start in on my weekly dust-mote inventory.”

“Don’t let Kryten hear that,” Lister warned, turning the page slowly. “He’ll short himself out scurrying about dusting everything on all five hundred levels.” He found his spot. “Again.”

“Why you think I do it at night when he’s busy with the gardens?” Things were quiet for about twenty seconds, until Holly sighed. “So … you have any questions for me?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Any questions? Any at all? One at a time, though; I can only talk so fast that the human ear can comprehend.”

If he didn’t ask a question, he’d hear nothing but this for the next sixty seconds. “Fine, Hol.” He looked about, trying to think of something, then back down at his book. “Okay,” he said. “Relationship question.”

“Lay it on me, dude.”

“You never did explain why, of all the people on board this ship, you chose to activate Rimmer as a hologram when you brought me out of stasis. I mean, yeah, now I can see why you didn’t pick Kris; that would’ve been kind of awkward, since she broke up with me, and even if she hadn’t, the whole ‘no touching’ thing for years would’ve been too frustrating. But Rimmer – you said it was based on how many words we’d said to each other? But I was out with Petersen and Chen and Selby almost every night, for seven months, you know, minus the three weeks I dated Krissie. Surely I had more friendly conversations, more words, with them than with Rimmer?” He shrugged. “I mean, I don’t have any complaints now, obviously. Well, no more than usual, about him – but you know what I mean.”

He chewed on a bit of leftover curried chicken caught between two teeth, from dinner, as he pondered. “I guess you were right, after all, Hol. But I still don’t really get _why_ you knew it would work, y’know?

Holly regarded him wisely, saying nothing for a few seconds. Then: “That’s not a question to ask a Series 6000 shipboard model. Really, Dave, why would you think it was?” Lister opened his mouth to speak, but was overridden. “That’s an insult, that is. That’s a question you ask a Series 1000, maybe. Possibly an Atari 2600. A Texas Instruments calculator from 1980 could answer _that_ question.”

“All right, geez.” Lister held up a hand in surrender, knowing it was easier than trying to point out he’d been solicited for a question in the first damn place. “I get it, fine; fourteen million words of conversation, fine.”

“That’s right. Not that hard to figure out, is it?”

Lister rolled his eyes and went back to his book. He could still see Holly on the screen, in his periphery, but the computer was quiet, presumably ticking off seconds until he could start on his scheduled inventory. Lister made it through another half-page of dialogue before he was interrupted.

“Now,” Holly said, without preamble, a throat-clearing, or any such introduction, “the question you should rather be asking me, if I were you, Dave, is how I arrived at your assignation of you two as roommates in the first place.”

 _That_ got Lister’s attention. But by the time he looked up, Holly was winking out of sight, his Cheshire Cat smile the last thing visible before vanishing completely. _Smegger_. He went back to reading, thinking it was a sorry sight when your ship's computer was more oblique than Austen.

He didn't know what kind of time passed, but footsteps pulled him out of what could be called a snarkfest in any time period, between Elizabeth and Darcy. Lister went a bit on edge – he wasn't unused to having a late-shift visitor, but Rimmer's footfalls weren't quite that heavy, and it didn't sound like Kryten's trademark step, either. He wondered if he was going to have to go for the blaster under the console. Taking a deep breath, he swiveled in his chair and eyed the opposite entrance to the drive room – the sounds were just beyond its threshold.

The man strode in with confident steps, the ship's fluorescent lights skipping and playing along the highlights of perfect, dark strawberry-blond hair. Aviator glasses obscured his eyes, but he pulled them down his nose to look over them for a moment, and pushed them back with an easy smirk. His jaw was sharp, his forehead high, and the suit he wore gleamed golden, as if spun from pure sunlight.

"Hello again, Davy-boy. Long time, no see!"

Lister squinted, partly from the light being thrown off by bronze bacofoil and mostly from his brain convinced that his eyes were feeding back faulty images. The look, the voice, the hair – all the original Ace's. He supposed it was possible this was _him_ , given all the leaping around in time and space that ship could do. Then again, it could be Rimmer playing some inexplicable gag. “Hey, Ac- um … Arn- ah … hey, you!” he finally tried, with puzzled cheer.

Ace made his way over and fell gracefully into the chair beside Lister's. "So, what has my old pal Skipper been up to lately, hmm?"

Cocking an eyebrow, Lister appraised the man across from him. It did no good to look for the distinctive jaw-scar; Ace had it, too. His eyes were shielded by those glasses, and he honestly couldn't tell if that thing on his head was a wig or rooted. He decided to try asking, “Rimmer?”

"Well, I should certainly hope so, or the _Wildfire_ would kick me out on my tush." He seemed to remember just then that he had a box under his arm, and turned it right side up. "Care for a chocolate while you think? Never cared for 'em much myself until I found this absolutely perfect chocolatier in Dimension 658." He opened the box and held it out. "I bought a stockpile of them to share."

Something that felt unpleasant was itching in the back of Lister's admittedly lumbering brain, tapping away like a prisoner with a ball-peen hammer trying to get his attention – but he still couldn't make a connection. "What kind are they?" he asked cautiously; he was allergic to raspberries.

"The best, thickest, richest cherry liqueur chocolates the universe has ever tasted." He plucked one from the box and popped it in his mouth, pleasure evident in every lineament. "Go on, have one."

He sat up straight, the hammer getting louder and more insistent, working away at the brick. "What?"

Surprise on the chiseled face. "You don't like cherry? All the more for me, then. I remember the last time I shared them, I was in a pine forest with the most beautiful wood-sylph you could imagine. Of course, we ended up having fantastic sex, but I don't think that's in the cards for us, Skipper."

Unless he'd nodded off while reading, this _had_ to be Rimmer; that he was playing some sort of prank seemed evident, but Lister still couldn't-

 _THUNK_. The mental brick came loose, and his mind started making all kinds of associations: _pine … forest … wood … bacofoil … cockpit … cherry liqueur chocolates-_

Oh, HELL no. Lister wasn't sure if his face likely blanched or bloomed a dark beige-red, but he immediately began plotting the demise of whichever one of them had let slip to Arn his dream – the one that had necessitated Kryten programming “The Rimmer Experience” to help him get over missing the hologram. “Which one of those Judases opened their big smegging mouth?” he hissed, doing a bang-up job of addressing Rimmer without looking anywhere near those sunglasses.

Ace opened his mouth, but silenced himself as Kryten ambled into the drive room. "I was just wondering if you'd like some-"

The mechanoid looked up, shock clear on his face. "M- Mr. Ace, sir?" He paused, twiddling his fingers as he flicked his gaze between the two men nervously. "Oh, my. You know, I think the laundry timer just went off. Yes, I'm sure I heard it." He went back out the way he came, and “Ace” turned to Lister with a smirk and a sideways nod of his head at the mechanoid's back.

All this running around lately – as well as other, ah, _exercise_ – was apparently doing Lister some good, as he was up out of his chair and out the door before conscious thought kicked in, his book skidding across the floor. “THE LAUNDRY ROOM IS THREE FLOORS DOWN!” he hollered. He stopped long enough to run back and stick his head in the drive room, waved his fingers at the console and viewport, and pointed between it and Rimmer to indicate transfer of watch. Then, he snapped his fingers and kept one aimed at Rimmer. “Not one smegging, goited _word_ about this.” When Rimmer only cheerfully continued to smile from behind his Ray-Bans, Lister gritted his teeth and turned back for the perpetrator. “I KNOW WHERE WE CAN GET A HUDZEN!” he could be heard calling as he pounded down the corridor after the surprisingly agile Series 4000. “I BET _HE_ KNOWS HOW TO KEEP A SMEGGING CONFIDENCE!”

Rimmer just laughed, changing back to his familiar, comfortable blue. He leaned back in the chair, listening to the fading footsteps, and allowed himself a long, low cackle of dark merriment. He raised a chocolate to his mouth and bit into it, savoring the sweet, red liquid as it slid over his tongue. "The world loves a bastard."


End file.
